Only the Weak are not Lonely
by deadselly
Summary: Aeri has nursed an infatuation for Loki ever since she was a child. After years of daydreams she never thought she'd see realized, she has somehow managed to attract his attention... but Loki has never been one for noble intentions. LokixOC
1. ACT I: A Means to an End

**Prologue: A Means to an End**

**AN: **This is a prologue set way before the happenings of _Thor_. The real meat of the story will take place shortly before the happenings of _Thor_, during it, and during what happens in _The Avengers._ The following chapter(s) will dive right into that. This story blends lore from both the comics, the movies, and real Norse mythology. It also involves an OC romance. Warnings, they've happened. Derpaderp.

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**_Loki_**

"My friends, gaze now upon this comb!" Fandral's voice was proud as he held before the crowd a rather finely crafted hair comb. The prongs were made of sparkling silver and set with shimmering blue jewels, the handle of it crowned with a carefully sculpted white flower. The flower itself was a work of art, each petal glimmering as if wet with dew and so carefully curled, nestled amid a few soft, snowy feathers. There was a hushed murmur from the crowd as they observed it; Loki thought he saw Sif's eyes brighten with something similar to lust.

He had to give Fandral some credit; the comb was lovely, obviously made by a craftsman with both an eye for detail and a talented hand. But for all of Fandral's proud boasting, there was something off about the blonde man's countenance.

"This comb was crafted for one reason, my friends – to woo the heart of a noble lady, one who had effortlessly stolen my heart." The crowd responded to this confession with another flutter of acknowledgment, a few smiles flickering across drunken faces. It amused Loki that they could not see where this was going; that the pain in Fandral's eyes was so oblivious to the lot of them.

Fandral's proud tone dropped an octave, his eyes softening with something like sadness. "Alas, it was not to be, and the comb failed just as my words did. Her decision remains the same, and she has closed her heart to me." The crowd's excitement seemed to dampen immediately, the quiet rumble of voices fading to a respectful silence. It was all Loki could do not to laugh.

"But rather than surrender to self-pity, I have decided to allow you, my friends, to prosper from my failures." Fandral's optimism had returned, and he held the comb up above his head so that it caught the light of the sun steaming through the wide dining hall. "While I cannot bring myself to sell this comb, I cannot bear to keep it... and so, I offer it up to you, that one of you might win it and gift it to a maiden that pulls at your own heartstrings."

The room exploded with raucous cheers and whistles, highlighted by the sound of hands thumping against the long tables.

"Shall it be a contest of strength, then? Shall we fight?" Loki knew the owner of the voice without even looking up, and he set his jaw against the flicker of anger that bloomed somewhere in his chest at the comment.

Predictably, those in the room turned their heads to Thor who sat slouched in his seat, drumming his fingers lazily against the table. "Fandral, it will not be a contest. You may as well just surrender the pretty trinket to me."

The hall erupted with laughter, and Loki heard Vorstagg telling Thor how lovely the comb would look nestled in his golden locks.

"Ah, but there's a catch, Thor. This shall not just be a contest that anyone can enter, for I would not wish anyone to share in my folly." Fandral stepped down off his seat and fell into it, tucking the comb back into an elaborately hand-carved box. "This will indeed be a test of strength; a series of fights... the combatants will be randomly matched and must fight their way up a ladder against other victors until there is only one left."

"And the catch?" It was a man who Loki did not recognize, his eyes set greedily upon the box Fandral had placed before him on the table.

"The catch, my friends, is this: I would not wish to see this beautiful comb refused twice. Thus, in order to enter, all combatants must be gifted with a token of esteem from a fair lady, be it a handkerchief, a scarf, a ribbon... and the winner will deliver, to that lady, my lovely comb."

The reaction was instant: the room was suddenly a chorus of noise, both boisterous cheers of excitement and cries of dissent. Sif seemed particularly furious, her eyes flashing daggers at Fandral. It was only because he was close enough that Loki could hear her as she leaned across the table to hiss at Fandral with a voice tight with anger. "And what of a woman who seeks to win the comb for herself, Fandral? What then?"

While Fandral pulled back from Sif, obviously uncomfortable with her sudden and sharp reaction, he was unwilling to back down. "That would not be in the spirit of things. If you want the comb, Sif, I suggest you find something to give to Thor... before another maiden gifts him with a token of her affection and claims your prize."

Sif's expression was almost murderous, but Loki let his gaze drift away from her, caught by the sudden rallying of the hall. Food was abandoned as people stood from their seats to dart across the room, mingling amongst each other. Women, both coquettish and demure, were already flocking around Thor in droves.

The whole situation soured Loki's already poor mood for many reasons: he found the energy in the room repugnant and he detested the saccharine sweetness that coated the otherwise banal tournament. But worst of all, he'd been considering entering the tournament himself. The hair comb, of course, did little to hold his interest, but it had been awhile since anyone had made an attempt to organize a tournament, and Loki had been aching for a fight. But Fandral's 'catch' had essentially ruined his chances at entering. There was no one to gift him with a token of their esteem, and he was not about to lower himself to petty begging or flirtation.

Rising from his chair he slipped silently and unseen from the room and out onto the wide, expansive balcony that lined the dining hall. He was mildly surprised to find it unoccupied, but hardly disappointed – the noise of the hall was making his head ache, and he always found the view relaxing. The sun, setting behind the tall, glimmering towers, painted the city in a warm, dying glow. His long fingers curled around the alabaster bannister, his breath escaping from his chest in a hiss between his teeth.

The wind touched at his hair and face with cool fingers and Loki closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of it whistling between the spires in an attempt to drown out the cacophony of shrill laughter and urgent pleading that seeped out from the dinning hall behind him. It had been so long since he and Thor had properly fought, and he had learned so many things since then. His face felt hot with the fury at being denied a chance to best his brother.

Suddenly, from behind him, he heard the small sound of a clearing throat. Loosening his fingers, he willed the anger back, feeling his face relax into that ever-familiar mask. When he felt sufficiently calm, he allowed himself to turn, not bothering with a smile.

He wasn't sure who he'd been expecting, but he certainly hadn't expected a child – nor was she a daughter of Asgard. Her features were too fine, and even though she was a child, her stature was too small, her frame too delicate. It was, however, the stunning white-blonde of her hair that gave her away, a shade no one in Asgard possessed – and one that the elves in Alfheim were known for.

"And to what end do you seek me out, Elf-child?" He kept his tone guarded, watching her carefully.

She didn't respond, but lifted her hands to her hair, knotted messily at the nape of her neck. After a moment's struggle, her hair spilled across her shoulders and down her back, gleaming like a river of white gold in the fading sun. Slowly she raised a hand to him, looking at him expectantly, and it took him a moment to realize she was holding something in her small fist.

"What is this, then?" He had to kneel to get a better look, for she was so short – all Light Elves were – and her age made her height even more restrictive. Taking her hand in his, he pulled her fingers back and found himself darting to catch something small and wriggling and blue as it tried to dance away on the wind.

"A ribbon." It was a mild struggle to keep the derision from his voice. The fabric was foreign to him, but he assumed it to be Alfheim-made, and it was of obvious quality. Running his fingers across it, he caught her gaze again, fixing her with a stern look. "Why did you bring this to me? Do you want me to tell you how lovely it is?"

She made a face at him, her nose crinkling a little bit with her frown. "It is not _just_ a ribbon." Her voice was light with childish naivety, but surprisingly firm. "It is a _token_."

It took Loki a moment to register what the Elvish girl was saying. "A... token." She clearly meant Fandral's challenge. "You want me to compete in Fandral's ridiculous game?"

The girl looked confused. "Did you not want to?"

"Pray tell what gives you the idea that I would want to?" Even Loki was surprised by his tone, as much by the note of genuine curiousity and the decided lack of venom.

The girl shifted her weight from one foot to the other, making a sound as if she thought it was the most obvious answer in the world. "You seemed disappointed when that man said that participants would need a token from a lady. Then, you came out here." She paused, for a moment, gesturing around them animatedly. "Alone!"

Loki could only stare at her in response before slowly shaking his head at her. "Is that an admission that you were watching me?"

There was a flush of red against the white of her cheeks as she looked away from him. "Well..."

He smothered a laugh. "And are you assuming that you are a _lady_?"

The girl quickly regained her composure, defiantly crossing her arms across her chest as that little frown resurfaced. "The loud man did not clarify age! He just said a 'lady' and a 'maiden', and I am _both _of those."

"Mmm." Loki returned, thoughtfully, sliding the ribbon between his fingers again. "I suppose he did not. But I suspect he will object to this turn of events." He studied the girl for a moment, his green eyes working their way across her face. Fandral would most definitely not be pleased. Loki had never been particularly close to Thor's friends despite the time he spent with them, and championing for a child _did_ seem to go against the romantic notions Fandral had for his tournament. Loki expected no exceptions to be made on his behalf.

But Loki's championing the girl would be seen as an act of kindness and good will. The Light Elves were well regarded in Asgard, and that the child was there at all suggested she was of noble birth, most probably visiting with her family. While Light Elves in Asgard were not wholly uncommon, most did not have the prestige required to travel from Alfheim to Asgard, and her nobility lent another bargaining chip to the equation. Fandral, then, would be a fool to refuse her; and by extension, a fool for refusing Loki.

The girl watched Loki silently, her teeth working at her lower lip. He was impressed with her ability to hold his gaze, though he suspected much of that came from the bravado of youth.

"Well..." She drew the word out, slow and deliberate. "You should _try_, anyway." It was such a late response to his comment that he suspected it was more her growing agitated with his silence than a real response. Children, he recalled, were generally impatient. He gifted her with a rare genuine smile.

"Yes," he agreed, tucking her ribbon into his jacket. "I agree. And I will. I will go and speak to him now, actually."

Her face broke out into a smile to match his own, vivid even in the encroaching twilight. "Good! And you will win, too!"

Loki half-snorted, half-laughed in response. "Your confidence is inspiring, Elf-girl; perhaps you would like to do battle yourself for that hair comb."

"But it is _not_ about the comb," she protested, her expression souring some. "My father always brings back pretty things for my mother's hair, and she often shares them with me. She even has ones prettier than that!"

Her comment gave Loki pause. "If that is the case, little one, what _is _it about?"

The girl lapsed into silence and merely looked at him, her eyes bright but guarded.

"I suppose I shall leave you to your secrets, Elf-girl." Loki let his eyes move from her and back into the dining hall, where a line had formed in front of Fandral. The girl turned to follow his gaze before looking back quickly at him. "They are already declaring their intentions! You should go!"

Loki looked back down at her. "You say 'you' as if you aren't going to accompany me. Fandral will doubtlessly deny me without your presence." He held his hand out to her and was surprised by how readily she accepted it.

"And in that vein," he continued, mentally preparing arguments for any point Fandral could raise. "I suppose I should know your name."

"Aeri," she answered cheerfully. All traces of that early solemnity were gone as she tugged against his hand, almost dragging him behind her. "And don't worry – I already know who _you _are."

"Do you, now?" Loki's voice was smothered by the noise of the hall, but one didn't need to hear the smirk that punctuated the question. Fandral – and even Thor – would certainly be surprised. No doubt they would conclude he had initiated this particular arrangement, never expecting luck to have given it to him so freely. Whatever the child's reasoning, he didn't particularly care; she was a means to an end that he was willing to exploit.


	2. ACT I: Momentary Distractions

**Momentary Distractions**

**AN: **This chapter takes place approximately ten or so years after the prologue.

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_**Loki**_

The feast, officially, was in celebration for the vanquishing of a group of elementals that had been 'plaguing' the outer eastern reaches of the city of Asgard. It had been simple work, and Loki had wondered how the inhabitants had been unable to deal with it themselves. He suspected it had _something_ to do with _someone_ wanting to see Thor in action. News had traveled fast about his acquisition of Mjolnir and he imagined the sudden outcropping of requests for help were undoubtedly related.

Thor was more than happy to oblige, ever eager to show off his new toy and his battle prowess. For the most part, Thor's friends were happy to indulge his whims, and tagged along without question. Loki was more reluctant, and made a point of refusing whenever possible. It was, unfortunately, something that didn't happen often. If it wasn't Thor pressuring Loki into attendance, it was their father, who for some reason thought Loki might be able to reign his brother's overzealous nature in – which may as well have been a fool's errand as far as Loki was concerned.

Loki had found the elementals hardly a challenge, and Thor had decimated the ones he found without even breaking a sweat. The feast, then, was an overindulgence on Thor's part. He was ever hungry for glory, and thus ever susceptible to Volstagg's pleading for feasts.

Picking at the bit of beef on his plate, he watched Thor and Sif dispassionately as they quarreled, playfully, over some minor detail in the fight with the elementals. He found his appetite less than wanting and chewed every small bite methodically, counting each click of his teeth in an effort to reign his temper in.

Odin had excused himself from the feast before it had even started, something Loki knew he did out of disdain for Thor's gross self-indulgence – something, he also knew, Thor was oblivious to. It astounded Loki that Thor was so ignorant of his own selfishness, but it astounded him even more so why the warrior was so well liked. He found the quality in his brother so infuriating that even Thor's optimism and buoyant personality could do little to ease that growing disdain.

Loki let his gaze drift from the table and out to the balcony where the sky was just beginning to sparkle with stars and sighed.

"Does your beef prove to be an inhospitable dinner companion, Loki?" Thor's voice jarred Loki from his attempted reverie, and he could not keep the frown from his face.

"I merely wonder why we are feasting after such an easy victory." Loki was careful to maintain his voice, his tone cool.

"Only you would complain about a feast, Loki," Vorstagg grumbled into a turkey leg as he tore the meat from the bone nosily. The sound of the gristle tearing finished off the last remnant of Loki's appetite and he pushed the plate away from him.

"It is all in good fun, brother; it would do you some good to relax some!" Thor held a mug of ale in Loki's direction cheerfully, his grin broad across his face.

Sif shook her head, running her tongue along her teeth for a moment before responding. "Loki only enjoys fun when he's having it at another's expense."

Loki placed his hand across his heart in an over-exaggerated sweeping motion and gave Sif a wide smile. "My dear lady Sif, your silver tongue always leaves me swooning. Your charming nature is _surely_ your best attribute."

Sif's eyes darkened considerably, her fingers tightening on the table as her mouth became a thin line. He could see the arguments building in her expression, see her struggling to keep her tongue.

"Loki – Sif. Come now, let us try and be civil for one night," Fandral's tone was exasperated. "Must you two _always_ verbally spar? It grows very tiresome."

The sound of a door opening from across the hall stilled everyone to silence as six pairs of eyes rose from the mounting argument to find the source of the distraction. Frigga's form materialized from the darkness of the hallway, her skirts fluttering about her feet as she moved into the dining hall, turning quickly behind her to address a pair of strangers.

Loki frowned as he appraised them; a male and a female, both fair haired, as far as he could see in the dim lighting of the hall, and both small of form. The male was barely as tall as the Queen herself, though his armor spoke of a warrior's nature and his body seemed well toned to a warrior's work. The female was shorter still, a wisp of a thing next to Frigga. Loki had never found his mother to be particularly imposing, but from across the room, beside that slight of a girl, she looked almost like a giantess.

Sif breathed out a sigh. "Elves. They are so lovely."

It was the same conclusion that Loki had arrived at. There was simply no mistaking them for anything else.

Volstagg took a long drag of his drink as he watched the Queen conversing with her guests. "Elven girls are such pretty creatures. But there's always that fear of breaking them."

Loki snorted. "I imagine Elvish women are often throwing themselves at you with wild abandon."

Volstagg chose to ignore the slight and shot Loki a knowing grin. "You have no idea."

"He has to fight them off nightly. His beard was actually grown out as an attempt to deter their advances," Thor continued, clapping Volstagg on the back merrily.

Volstagg shook his head, his expression mock-grave. "But it was all for naught. They still come round nightly, begging."

Sif let her head slide to her arms, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. "Must you always be so vulgar?"

Loki let his attention slide from his brother and his friends back to his mother and her guests. Frigga seemed to be mostly speaking to the man, who Loki determined was a fair bit older than the girl by the faint lines beginning to show on his face. The girl stood back a bit from the pair, her gaze fixed somewhere out on the balcony, her hands held placidly in front of her. There was some familial resemblance between the two Elves, and Loki suspected the man was probably her father.

Their hair was striking even in the poor lighting. The man's had a more golden hue to his own, but the girl's reminded him of sunlight reflecting off freshly fallen snow – white with just a bit of yellow glow. She kept it back from her face in a tight bun that crested at the top of her head, long bangs tucked behind her ears. He'd often heard Asgardian women express jealousy over the fair, easy beauty of the Light Elves, but had never paid much attention to the Elves. Whether because there were too few in Asgard or because he'd never been given cause for interest, he begrudgingly found himself internally agreeing with Sif that Elves _were_ lovely.

Suddenly, the girl turned, her eyes finding his as they swept across the room. When she spied him, she offered him an easy smile, unclasping her hands to offer him an energetic wave. The gesture struck him as familiar, and he wondered idly if she'd mistaken him for someone else. Still, she seemed so enthusiastic that he felt odd not returning the greeting. He raised his hand in response and returned her smile, only to be surprised by how much her smile seemed to grow.

"Oh ho, what's this?" It was Thor's voice, rumbling and deep and pleased. "That little Elvish maid seems quite taken with you, Loki."

Sif crinkled her nose. "She must be daft."

Loki cast the two of them a dark look. "What?" He didn't bother to keep the irritation from his voice. "She clearly thinks I am someone else."

"Or maybe her sweet smiles were meant for Thor," Fandral suggested. His tone was helpful, but Loki could detect a note of mockery in it, and the blonde man's expression mirrored Sif's.

"Come now, brother, give yourself some credit," Thor chided, ignoring both Sif and Fandral as he punched Loki on the shoulder. "You just need to smile a bit more. It lightens up your countenance considerably."

Loki narrowed his eyes at Thor, a shadow slipping over his face. "Do not patronize me."

"Ah... see, that is actually the opposite of what I was suggesting." Thor looked defeated, and shook his head. "Perhaps Sif is right, and you are hopeless."

The comment was made in jest, but it still stung. Loki stood from his seat, his chair making a frightful noise as its legs scraped across the floor. "If you will excuse me, I find I am overtired. The battle with the elementals was _frightfully _exhausting."

Without giving pause for a response, Loki stalked from the table, allowing himself only a quick glance in the direction where Frigga and the Elves had been moments before. He was only mildly disappointed to find they were gone.


	3. ACT I: Reality

**Reality**

**AN: **Thanks for all the reviews and watches. :) It makes me happy.

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_**Aeri**_

The full length mirror was visible from her bed, and in the dark of the room Aeri could see herself from where she lay sprawled across the extravagant furs. Her quarters in Alfheim were not without their own splendor, but Asgard's notions of luxury put Elven ones to shame. The mirror itself was a work of art, the frame wreathed with vines and tiny little flowers whose centers featured the brightest of pearls. In the moonlight that streamed in through the balcony she could see them shine. She felt almost silly gazing into the mirrored glass, as if she could hope to compare to the carefully crafted beauty of the mirror itself.

Listlessly she rolled over on her side, turning her attention to the open balcony and the canvas of sky that stretched on behind it. It was late; the sounds of life in the palace had long ago quieted to silence, and she knew she should be asleep. But a wistful energy pulsed through her veins, and it was a struggle to be still, to lay down.

On her last visit to Asgard, her parents had taken up a temporary residence in the city in one of the finer inns, choosing to decline the All-father's invitation to stay in the palace. Aeri's father had meant to do the same on their return visit, but at Aeri's insistent pleading he had finally relented. It was a choice that pleased Aeri and Odin both.

Aeri's father had assumed her desires stemmed from a fascination with the beauty and lavishness of the palace, and while she did admire it a great deal, it was a far cry from her real reason. But she had allowed him to believe it, if only because her real reasons were more difficult to explain - especially to her father.

Aeri had not planned that far in advance, though. In reality, she hadn't planned at all, as a return visit had been little more than the fantastical dream. When faced with the reality of it occurring, she felt lost, and more than a little anxious.

Standing from the bed, she watched disinterestedly as the furs fell from her frame to pile at her feet in a strange, formless mountain. Once more she turned her attention to the mirror, stalking towards it to examine herself.

She hadn't bothered changing out of her simple white gown from earlier; the night air had been chilly and she'd been too distracted to bother with undoing the laces. It was one of her favorite gowns – it had been her mother's, actually – and she favored the way it danced around her ankles like soft, white fog. There was no reason to change.

Beside the mirror sat a trunk of her possessions, the only things she'd brought with her from Alfheim: a few dresses, a set of armor, her bow, and a few trinkets. She reached into the chest and after rummaging through a few light cloaks she found what she was looking for: an ornately carved box.

She opened it slowly, listening to the creak of the latch. It was as familiar as an old friend, a sound she never tired of hearing. And there, nestled atop a soft blue pillow, was her hair comb.

Aeri had many hair combs. They were something her mother had always loved and collected, and after her mother had passed away, Aeri had come to possess them all. But this one – the one with the white flower and blue jewels – was her favorite.

Standing, she looked again at herself in the mirror, pressing the comb between her lips as she pulled her hair atop her head in a messy bun. With relish, she secured it with the hair comb, careful to make sure the flower faced forward. It had been ten years since she had come into possession of the comb, and she took great effort in its care. Even the feathers remained fully intact, their gentle curve still holding strong.

"What are you even thinking?" She asked her reflection, a small frown crossing her face. "What are you dressing up for? The whole palace rests."

The words were empty, and did nothing to quell her desire to move. Briefly she considered pacing her room until she found sleep, but it was only moments before she abandoned the idea and took to the hallways.

The palace at night was another creature entirely from the one she knew during the day. Even the wide hallways by day were crowded, full of servants and guards and important people. It seemed she was always bumping into someone, and compared to the expansive forests of Alfheim, she found the palace to be almost stifling.

But now there was nothing save the sound of the wind that drifted in through the open windows and the occasional pair of guards who gave no indication of even seeing her. She drifted through the hallways like a ghost on bare, tiptoed feet, pausing occasionally to admire the fine tapestries that hung across the walls. It was a pleasant enough distraction from her otherwise tumultuously buzzing thoughts.

Before long, she found herself in the dining hall. The hearths in the hall were kept always glowing, but the flickering of their light served only to illustrate how empty the place was without the people who had filled it earlier.

Aeri let her eyes fall to the table where she'd seen them earlier, her eyes tracing the outlines of the empty seats. It had been ten years, but he still looked much as he did before – they all did. And she had aged so much that when he had looked at her, he did not recognize her. It had crushed her, inwardly, but she had smothered it, hidden it. It was enough that he had waved back.

Still, that bitter sense of disappointment resurfaced. Aeri had so dearly hoped he would remember – that he would look at her and take her hands in his and ask her to sit with him, that they might catch up with one another. A fool's dream, she knew; she was but a child then, and hardly worth his interest besides what momentary use he'd had for her. It made sense that he wouldn't remember. But the reality of it hadn't stopped her from wishing.

Her attention drifted from the table and out to the balcony – the place that, ten years ago, she had approached him with a boldness that had surprised her even then. But this time it was not her courage to give her pause.

Against the backdrop of the sky, she saw a shadow on the balcony, leaning against the balustrade. Squinting against the poor light, she felt her breath catch in her throat when she realized who it was - the Trickster himself. Loki.

For a moment she could not move, barely daring to breath. Every muscle stood taunt, every nerve afire, and she fought the urge to turn and run. The risk of embarrassing herself seemed likely, and she was very well aware that a soured conversation might ruin everything. Perhaps he wanted to be alone. Perhaps she was daft for even dreaming to hope he might gift her with his attention.

But there was still some of that childish courage left. It was too auspicious a chance, she thought, to find him here again, and alone. She knew she'd never have the nerve to approach him when he was surrounded with his friends.

Her first steps were slow and careful, but with each footfall she faced the mounting feeling of panic. She reasoned it was probably like jumping into a cold lake: taking it slow was agonizing and painful. It was always better to dive in and think later.

Gathering her skirts in her hands, she all but ran across the polished floors of the hall and took the short flight of stairs that lead out onto the balcony two at a time with tiny, graceful hops. By the time her feet found purchase on the balcony itself, she looked up to find him staring at her, a look of incredulity on his face.

"Are you fleeing something, lady?" She was pleased to find no sort of hostility in his voice, though she was mildly worried he thought her somewhat daft.

Aeri paused before answering, taking in a deep gulp of the night air to steady her nerves. "No!" She released her skirts and shook her head, feeling a nervous, fluttering smile stretch her lips. "No. I just... was possessed by a sudden burst of energy."

"I see that." His tone was dry, his expression unreadable. His eyes darted up and down her form before catching her gaze again. "Though you must not find me rude for asking where you get your energy when the night is so late."

Aeri suspected that he cared little if others found him rude, but decided that was a subject not worth broaching. Instead she took a few steps toward him until she stood only a few feet away, peering up at him with bright eyes. She was taller now – he did not seem like the giant he had when she was younger, but he towered over her nonetheless. Inwardly she cursed her heritage, worried that he might find taller women more attractive.

"That is not what I expected you to ask me, my Lord." The boldness of her tone bewildered her; it seemed to surprise him as well. A look of uncertainty crossed his face, if only for a second. She wondered if she imagined it.

"And what would the lady have me ask of her?" He questioned her, guardedly.

Clasping her hands behind her back, Aeri made an effort to stand up straighter, holding her head a little higher. "_'And to what end do you seek me out, Elf-child?'_"

Loki lapsed into silence then, but she caught the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes. "You." It was a breath of a whisper, and suddenly his eyes were at the top of her head, fixated on the comb nestled in her hair. "The girl from years ago."

With nimble fingers she pulled the comb free from her hair, doing nothing to stop her long waves from spilling down her shoulders. She held the comb out to him, surprised by how carefully he took it from her – embarrassed by the gooseflesh that prickled at her arms when his fingers brushed hers.

He held the comb up in the moonlight to study it, his gaze intense and focused. "It looks as new as it did that day. As unused as Fandral's infatuation left it." He glanced back at her. "Do you not wear it?"

"I do," she answered him, eagerly. "Almost every day. It is my favorite, without question."

His eyes held hers for a long moment, the intensity of his gaze punctuating the silence. His eyes were such a vivid, bright green; the color was piercing, and she was beginning to understand why she'd heard Thor's brother described as 'unnerving'. But she willed herself not to look away and did not break from his gaze, maintaining the silence with him.

His expression did not change, and she was beginning to find her inability to read him uncomfortable. "I seem to remember a certain Elvish girl telling me that the comb held no special allure for her when she asked me to champion her in Fandral's farce of a tourney." He ran his fingers over the teeth of the comb, his eyes never leaving her face. "You had seen much prettier ones, you claimed. That there was nothing particularly alluring about this one."

Aeri crossed her arms across her chest and shook her head at him, her hair dusting at the small of her back. "And there was no trickery in my words; the comb held no interest for me! The meaning came from the experience. I have received combs even prettier since, and yet they do nothing for me. They hold no special place in my heart."

"Truly you do not mean to tell me that something _positive_ was born of that _charade_?" Loki's voice suddenly darkened with the question, and he all but hissed the last word.

Aeri was taken aback by the sudden venom in his voice and took a moment before she could find her voice. "Do _you_ look so disdainfully upon that memory?"

He laughed, but there was no humor to the sound. "What good can be remembered of a fight that I lost?"

"What does losing a fight matter if you still claimed victory?" She argued, her hands falling to fists at her side.

"Fandral was a fool," Loki snarled, his green eyes flashing at the Elvish girl. "He has always been a fool; it is hardly difficult to outsmart him, and it has never something I have found particular pride in doing. Amusement, perhaps; but pride? Pride comes from victory in battle. In a realm where merit is judged on strength and the number of foes defeated, my wit does _nothing_ for me. If cleverness were worth what sheer bravado was, I would not always find myself in Thor's damnable shadow!" He turned from her suddenly, placing her comb beside him on the railing before curling his fingers tightly around the alabaster beam. She could see the white of his knuckles, the muscles of his hands tight and trembling from tension.

It took all her restraint not to snatch her comb back from its precarious position. The fall from the balcony seemed endless. Instead, she took a deep breath, and tried to find some way to repair the conversation. "You did so well, though. You bested everyone you fought without any sort of effort. It was only at the end that you found any real opposition, and Thor..." She paused for a moment, trying to judge his reaction. It was impossible when he kept his back to her.

"But even though you lost that final fight, no one was expecting you to throw the tourney," she continued, marveling that her voice did not quaver. "Certainly not Fandral. His face when he opened that box to find his comb missing – and the hushed, furious murmuring of the crowd – it is something I have never forgotten, even years later." Daringly, she touched his shoulder with the tips of her fingertips, and when he did not react, she pushed on still.

"And then you flashed him that wide, knowing smile, and I can still recall your words exactly. _'The winner will deliver, to that lady, my lovely comb.' _And you procured his missing comb from your coat, and tucked it into my hair with a flourish, no heed paid to your injuries or the confusion of the crowd. And you were _right! _Fandral _had _said that! You won by outsmarting him; by outsmarting them all!"

Suddenly Loki was upon her, his hand catching hers tight within his own. His grip was strong and she found herself fearing that he might break her fingers. His eyes glittered with cold fury.

"Did you find me so _clever_ then, Elf-girl? Did you find yourself enamored of how easily I outsmarted them? Cleverness and wit – oh, but no, it was _deceit_, and it was _treachery_, and it was an option I took _only_ _because _I could not lose so wholly to Thor! You were _nothing_ but an ignorant child, but _they_ saw it for what it really was: a desperate, prideful bid against failure."

Loki took one long, shaking breath. His face was so close to her face that she felt his breath stirring her hair when he exhaled.

"But you cannot tell me that it was a _not _a failure; you cannot tell me that _I_ claimed victory. Thor was the victor in the eyes of everyone that night – except, I suppose, in the eyes of one tiny and insignificant _child._"

To Aeri, it felt as if everything was moving in slow motion, as if she were submerged in water. She could only stare at him, weakly fighting back the overwhelming threat of tears that burned behind her eyes. How had this gone so wrong?

"You do not even remember my name, do you?" The question was petulant, but she no longer felt as if she could care.

"Would it _wound _you if I did not?" There was a spiteful edge to his voice that made her visibly flinch. "Did it _wound _you that I did not recognize you earlier, in the hall?"

He was still gripping her hand, and she was dully aware of the pain in her fingers. But that pain seemed to pale in comparison to the aching in her chest. Aeri considered lying to him, knowing that she should. His cruelty had shaken her, and she wanted to hurt him back, but the lies died in her throat.

"Yes," she whispered through clenched teeth, her whole body tense with the effort it was taking to not cry in front of him. "It _would_ wound me." She wrenched her hand from his with a strength that surprised her, and by the widening of his eyes, him. "And it _did _wound me. I _wanted _you to recognize me. Evidently, however, I am still the ignorant _child_ I was ten years ago, and just as incapable of understanding."

There was something like confusion in his eyes, but Aeri found herself very tired, suddenly. She had not wanted an argument in the first place, and she lacked the energy to continue. Without another word, she turned on her heel and fled the balcony, ignoring his sudden demands for her to stay.

Through the dining hall and out into the halls she ran, her pace quick until she was certain he was not following her. It was only once she was sure she was alone that she allowed herself to stop, and there, in a dark, empty hallway of the palace of Asgard, she began to weep.


	4. ACT I: Things I'd Like to Forget

**Things I'd Like to Forget**

**AN: **So since someone (Avakris) asked for more on the tournament, I figured I'd go ahead and elaborate a wee bit more. Initially I was just planning to gloss over it in a flashback, but now we have a... larger flashback. Yeah. It's still kinda glossy, because ti wasn't the tournament that mattered, but the actual stuff that happened after it! Thanks 'gain for all the nice reviews. :)

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_**Loki - Ten Years Prior**  
_

_There had been fifty-six combatants total, which was a large number for such an informal tourney. Because there were so many combatants, Fandral opted for a quick elimination tournament and paired the combatants in sets of two The winner of that initial fight went on to fight another randomly selected winner until all but two of the initial fifty-six were eliminated._

_Of the two left standing, one was Thor, and the other Loki._

_Thor's wins came entirely to no one's surprise. His utter decimation of his opponents was a given, so much so that Fandral had considered banning him from the tourney entirely. But Thor's popularity had made that an impossibility; Asgard demanded to see their prince fight, and Thor was unwilling to sit the tourney out._

_What no one had expected was Loki's success. Of the five opponents he faced before Thor, none could give him a challenge, and he tore them all apart with such swift viciousness that the audience could barely keep up with the action. Given that his opponents were neither weak nor lacking in talent – Thor's own Volstagg had been one of them – Loki managed to garner himself quite a bit of attention by the tourney's apex._

_The battle between the two brothers was a monumental display of raw power, one that Thor did not win anywhere near as easily as his previous fights. The crowd sat in near-complete silence, barely daring to breathe as the brothers fought one another. It was a fight that lasted nearly an hour, a foreign sight for the crowd – Asgard was unused to seeing their beloved prince struggle. But Loki fought with an almost feral energy that gave Thor more than a little pause for concern._

_It was not energy Loki could sustain however, and as the long minutes passed he found himself weakening, his body tiring of Thor's unforgiving onslaught. From a distance, he thought he heard someone screaming his name, the sound sharp and ringing in the silence of the crowd – and then he was on his back, trying to blink the blood from his eyes. _

_Loki could make out Thor's face just barely, blurry through his unfocused vision. The only thing that dampened the suddenly rush of roiling hate that burned in his chest was how haggard Thor looked. The mighty son of Odin looked as if he were struggling to stand._

"_Brother," he heard Thor rasp. "It is done. Let it be over."_

"_It is not," Loki whispered, the words burning in his throat. His hands pushed feebly at the ground, trying desperately to find purchase. Thor looked on the brink of defeat; victory was so close, but Loki's muscles would not obey him. He wanted to scream out his rage, but the sound caught in his throat, choking him._

_Somewhere to his right, Loki caught the shadow of movement, and suddenly another face appeared besides Thor's – Aeri. The Elvish child. His sight was so unclear that it was only by the gleaming of her hair that he recognized her._

_She was trying to say something to him, her voice high and tight and frightened, but there was the sudden sound of thunder rumbling, echoing in his head painfully, and it drowned her out. After a moment it occurred to him that it was the crowd, cheering their adoration for Thor, beating their feet against the ground in a thunderous applause._

_The sound made him ill, and he turned his head to the side and retched into the grass. _

"_Please... see to him, girl. I need to be tended to, as well." It was Thor's voice again, unsteady, so close and yet so far away. Loki felt him leave rather than saw him._

_So that was it. It was done. It was over. Loki pushed his hands into the dirt beneath him and crushed it between his fingers, barring his teeth to the sky. He felt so tired, so exhausted, so furious with himself as the crowd screamed on. Just as it always was. Just as it always would be._

_He felt small fingers at his face, trying, futilely to wipe the blood from it. There was the sudden sound of tearing fabric, and then he felt something soft and cool against his hot, throbbing head. The material was like silk, and it felt good against his eyes when she went to wipe the blood from his them, this time with more success._

"_I would not have asked you if - "_

"_Don't." He didn't want to hear her apologies. He could see her better now that his eyes were free of blood, see that her own eyes were red, that her pale face was streaked with tears. He closed his eyes against the sight. He didn't want her pity. He wanted only victory – and that he had been denied. "And stop crying. It is childish to cry over lost trinkets."_

_It felt like an eternity that he lay there, unable to move while she dabbed at his face. Around them, he could hear the loud hum of people, but their voices were fuzzy and indistinguishable, like the buzzing of a thousand locusts. Slowly, though, he felt the aching in his limbs draining away, replaced with an almost pleasant warmth._

"_You know magic." It was more of a statement than a question. He recognized the feel of healing energies by the slight tickling feeling in the tips of his fingers._

"_A little," she mumbled, and he noticed that – to her credit – she wasn't crying any longer. "But not like you."_

"_No," he agreed, his voice tired. "Not like me."_

_But there was still talent in her ability and after a few moments his hearing had cleared and he managed the energy to sit up with her supporting him._

"_Has Fandral awarded Thor with the hair comb yet?" _

_She shook her head, her expression solemn, and cast her attention across the field where Fandral stood talking to a very weakened Thor. Loki followed her gaze, the faintest of smiles playing across his face. _

"_Good." He turned his eyes back to her. "Help me stand. I must go claim my insurance."_

_She looked at him with a look of confusion flickering across her childish features. "What? Insurance?"_

_But he didn't answer her, looking only at her expectantly until she offered him her shoulder. Once on his feet, Loki found himself considerably more steady than he had initially expected to feel. For a brief moment he considered complimenting Aeri on her abilities, but the sight of the crowd mulling around Thor like bleating sheep dampened any desire to be kind._

_Loki took a few steps forward to test the strength of his legs and found them acceptable. He glanced back and held his hand out to her. "Come," he commanded, and she obeyed, taking his hand without a word._

_They made their way towards Fandral, Thor and the others in silence, Loki struggling not to limp. Aeri's face was one of careful concentration, and with every step Loki took, he felt a little more of his stamina return, something he was begrudgingly thankful for. _

_Thor turned to greet them as they approached, offering Loki an exhausted smile. "Brother; I am glad to see you can walk again so quickly. Your little friend can work miracles."_

_Loki knew very well Thor did not think before he spoke. He knew very well that Thor did not try to sneak cruel barbs into his words, but the statement infuriated him. It took every ounce of restraint not to snarl in Thor's direction._

"_Not miracles, but I suppose she is fairly skilled."_

_In his peripheral vision, Loki could see Aeri almost smile, something like pride registering across her features._

_Fandral moved between them, clapping both brothers on the back. Though the gesture appeared friendly, he nearly knocked the breath from Loki, something Loki suspected was done intentionally._

"_What a lovely fight you gave us! I could barely breathe!" The blonde man exclaimed, giving Loki a smile dripping with mockery._

_Loki snorted, but kept his tone light. "What a pity you managed. But come now, Fandral; let the winner deliver the comb to his maiden fair so that we might be done with this."_

"_Eager to flee your humiliation?" Fandral's voice was cutting as he reached into his coat for the box, his expression bleeding disgust._

_Thor shook his head, frowning, a flicker of pain crossing his face at the gesture. "Fandral. Enough."_

_Loki, oddly enough, only smiled, his hand tightening its grip on Aeri's. She looked up at him curiously, her eyebrows furrowed._

_Fandral seemed only mildly disappointed by Loki's lack of reaction, instead holding the box above his head for a moment so that the crowd might see. "And so, let the winner bestow this lovely comb upon his maiden fair!"_

_But when he opened the box, it was empty._

_It wasn't something the entirety of the crowd could see. There were too many people in the way, but still a murmured gasp made its way from the center of the mob and outwards, like a crashing wave of shock. _

"_What?" Fandral cried out, his voice strained with tension and alarm. "The comb is gone!"_

"_You do not keep well enough track of your belongings, Fandral," Loki chided almost gleefully, his eyes glittering._

_Fandral turned with cold fury on Loki, his lips drawn back in a snarl. "You bastard! You damnable, selfish fool! _You _have done this!"_

_Thor's expression was one of disappointment. "Loki..."_

_Loki responded with a shrug, his expression one of practiced nonchalance. "You said the winner was the one who would gift his maiden with the comb." And from his own jacket, Loki procured the comb, an almost maniacal smile breaking out across his face. "And as I always play to win, I stole your precious comb."_

_Before anything could be said Loki took Aeri roughly by the shoulder and drew her to him. She looked up at him with wide eyes, the shock apparent and plain on her face. He said nothing to her, but set the comb into the thick locks of her silver-gold hair. _

"_You cannot do that!" Fandral made to snatch the comb from Aeri's hair, but Loki drew her behind him, that grin still wide and arrogant. Around them, the crowd floundered, unsure, the rumbling of their voices rising. _

"_I will not let you touch her, Fandral," Loki's voice was firm, as if he were speaking to a daft child, but still that smirk lingered._

"_Thor! Tell him he cannot do this! He is making a mockery of me – of you!" Fandral was all but shrieking, his voice cracking under the weight of his fury._

_Thor let his gaze drift from Fandral to Loki, and finally to Aeri who stood behind Loki looking as if she might cry. Her fingers clutched at the tail end of Loki's long coat, her knuckles white._

_The son of Odin sighed. "Fandral. Let it go."_

"_What?" Loki and Fandral asked at once, both clearly bewildered by his response._

"_You heard me." Thor shook his head. "You did not take the proper precautions; you have been bested, as have I. Let my brother keep his victory. Let the child keep her comb."_

_Fandral looked as if he were about to argue, but it was Loki who turned on Thor. All traces of that earlier smugness were gone, replaced instead with savage indignation. "Is this _pity_, brother? Mockery? I want _none _of it!" _

"_Must you always look for the negativity in everything, Loki?" Thor looked defeated, and shook his head again, his blue eyes sad. "I agree with you; there is no pity or mockery in my concession."_

"_I did not want your concession or your support," Loki hissed, his hands clenched at his sides. "Nor did I ask for them!"_

"_No," Thor agreed, turning from Fandral and Loki both. "But you have them, all the same."_

_And then Thor was gone, vanished into the crowd before Loki or Fandral had a chance to react or object. Fandral turned his attention back to Loki, his brows knitted together in disdain._

"_You do not deserve your brother's kindness."_

_Loki regarded Fandral for one long moment, struggling against the desire to split his head apart. "No," Loki agreed, finally. "And he is a fool for giving it to me so freely."_

_Fandral looked as if he didn't know how to respond to the agreement. Instead he looked to Aeri, who looked terribly lost, her fingers still caught in the leather of Loki's coat. "Be careful, girl, of keeping the company of devils." And then Fandral too, was gone, vanished into the quickly dispersing crowd._

_Loki was quiet for a long moment, his fingers twitching angrily at his sides. Slowly, he turned to face Aeri, lowering his gaze to hold hers._

"_Now you have your pretty trinket, Elf-child." His voice was thick with contempt. "Are you pleased?"_

_Aeri frowned up at him, looking as if she were struggling to find the right words. "I wanted you to win," she managed finally, quietly. "It was never about the hair comb."_

"_Is that so? I beg your pardon, but I do find that hard to believe." He laughed, the sound bitter. "Still, on the rare chance that you speak honestly, you need to learn that no amount of dreaming or wishing will win you what you want. The sooner you rid yourself of that fairy tale notion, the better."_

"_Then I will not rely on my dreams," she answered him, stubbornly. "I will pursue it, actively."_

"_Good," he whispered, his voice softening some. He placed his hand atop her head briefly, careful to avoid the hair comb. "The world will never hand you what you desire most; you must take it for yourself, the rest of the world be damned." He let his hand drop and turned from her. "Good bye, Aeri. It has certainly been interesting."_


	5. ACT I: Sentiment and Bias

**Sentiment and Bias**

**AN: **So this is the first chapter Loki and Aeri get to have a real conversation in, and that was pretty fun to write. :) And again, thanks for all the kind reviews, especially from you repeat readers. It pumps me up! :D

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_**Loki**_

While Loki didn't particularly like remembering moments in his life that made him uncomfortable or angry, it was something he made a habit of doing anyways. He used those bad feelings as fuel, as justification for his actions; it lessened any sense of guilt to an easy, manageable form that he was usually able to ignore without much effort. Anger was safe; it could be soothing. And it was infinitely better than sadness.

Regardless, he hadn't thought of the tourney in quite awhile. It wasn't something anyone made a habit of bringing up, considering the travesty he had made of it, and it was easier to sweep it under the rug and pretend it had never happened. Fandral, he supposed, had not forgotten; his dislike of Thor's brother had been mild in nature before, but in the ten years following it had devolved into something more like disgust.

But Loki didn't care enough about Fandral to pay much attention to the reasons for his bitterness, and ten years was a long time. Loki had nearly forgotten – at least until Aeri's sudden resurfacing.

And he _hadn't _recognized her. Not at first. After all, she had been a child when he knew her all those years ago. Those years had changed her, matured and molded her into a lovely young woman who bared only a passing resemblance to the fair haired child of his long abandoned memory.

He hadn't been able to form much of an opinion on her during their previous encounter, but then he hadn't really tried. Children had never held much interest for him, and she had merely been an opportunity that had presented itself at precisely the right moment. In the few days before the tourney she had shadowed his every step, asking him hundreds of questions, seemingly eager for whatever response he could spare her. And to his own surprise, he'd indulged her whims. It was the most he'd spoken to any one person in as long as he could remember.

She had been bearable, though, which was more than he could say for most people – especially children – and there were even moments when he'd found her childish enthusiasm somewhat entertaining. But at the end of the tourney, he wanted nothing to do with her, wanted nothing to do with anyone. Retreating to his quarters, he did not leave for days, taking his meals in solitude and refusing the company of anyone and everyone who came to see him. When he finally re-emerged, Aeri was gone, back to Alfheim with her family. Thor had been the one to break the news of her departure, and something in his demeanor suggested to Loki that he was supposed to be disappointed by that news. But Loki could not muster disappointment, and his nonchalant acceptance of her departure had seemed to disappoint Thor.

And that had been the end of Aeri as far as Loki was concerned. As the years passed, so then did his thoughts of her, the bright eyed child who'd wiped the blood from his face and cried for his loss. But Loki found no satisfaction in remembering the kindnesses done to him. Doing so made him _feel _more, brought attention to the things he knew he lacked. It was easier not to care. It was easier to feel alone, comforting as it was in its familiarity. Bitterness was the only friend worth having.

Sitting at the table in the dining hall, together but separate from Thor and his friends, Loki mulled over his untouched breakfast, his eyes fixed on some nondescript spot on the wall. He had heard her crying in the hall when he had finally left the balcony to retire to bed. He'd stopped around the corner and listened for longer than he should have to every little hiccup, to the sound of her snuffling, to her whimpering.

Loki was hardly unused to making people cry. He'd grown especially good at it when he'd finally mastered his sharp tongue, and he tended to take a lot of pride and satisfaction in doing so. But it had always been his choice, a conscious decision, and making Aeri cry had not been his goal. Rather, it had been a surprising conclusion to his outburst, one he had not really expected.

He pushed a bit of bread around on his plate, sliding his tongue between his teeth. With a clearer head, he was able to realize that she hadn't been mocking him about the tourney. To a young child unaccustomed to the drama of the Asgard court, the entire event must have seemed like some fantastical adventure – his own opinion of the event notwithstanding.

Suddenly he was aware of silence. It took him a moment to realize that Thor and his friends had hushed their voices, but the lack of noise was jarring enough to give him cause to look up. Following their attention, he grimaced at what he saw: Aeri, entering the hall.

There was something about the way Elves moved that he admitted he found somewhat fascinating. She seemed to nearly float across the floor, her bare feet barely rustling the hem of her simple white gown. The fabric of the dress was so light and shimmering that it reminded him of sunlight reflecting off of early morning mists.

She had not moved like that as a child; he supposed that dreamlike grace came with age, something that Elves had to grow into. But then her hair had also not seemed as bright, or the features of her face quite so delicate either.

Aeri did not seem to pay any heed to her surroundings, and if she noticed Loki or Thor or any of them she gave no indication. Her expression was one of emptiness, and in a moment she was gone, vanishing up the steps and onto the balcony, swallowed up by the blinding morning sun.

"She is rather lovely, I agree," Loki heard Thor saying, acknowledging something Fandral had said. "I do believe that is Arnkell's daughter; you met him before, briefly, last night."

"Ah, the friend of the All-father's, yes." Hogun interjected before Fandral could respond. "He seemed of a good sort. He lost his wife recently, if I recall? I seem to remember hearing something about that in passing awhile ago."

"Yes, but not so recently," Thor corrected. "It may have been a year ago, or more, even... I know that Arnkell had intentions of visiting before now, but his wife's sudden death was a surprise, and obviously took precedence over a holiday in Asgard."

"She seems familiar in some way," Fandral mused. "But perhaps that is because all Elves are lovely and I seem to lose myself too easily in their beauty."

"I do believe she is familiar for more reasons than that," Thor shook his head, his expression distant.

Fandral looked intrigued. "Oh?"

It was Sif who answered for Thor, sudden recognition dawning across her face. "She was the one Loki championed for in your tourney over that ridiculous comb."

Everyone's attention turned to Loki, who only looked silently back at them.

"Oh." Fandral's voice sounded strained, his expression darkening a shade. "I wonder if she still has that hair comb."

Loki's hand slipped inside of his coat, his fingers slipping across the smooth silver of the comb. She had left it when she'd fled him the previous night, and he had been debating on whether or not he'd return it to her.

"I suspect that is why she was waving so eagerly at Loki last night," Thor continued, obviously uncomfortable with the sudden awkward silence. "But it seems as if Loki did not recognize her."

"I certainly didn't," Volstagg laughed. "She looks completely different now."

Thor's eyes were burning into Loki's. "You should go and greet her, brother. It seemed as if she wanted to talk to you last night, and now that you know who she is..."

Loki couldn't help but smile; the irony was too perfect. It was his favorite kind of private joke.

"Oh, come now, do not loose him upon her," Fandral complained loudly, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "She barely escaped last time."

"Thank you for helping me make my decision, my dear Fandral," Loki declared, his tone mock-cheery as he stood from the table. "I think I _shall_ go and re-acquaint myself with her."

"Good!" Thor sounded so pleased that for a brief moment Loki considered simply walking out to spite his brother. But the incredulous looks on Thor's friends' faces were inevitably what made up his mind. Without another word he turned from the table and stalked out onto the balcony.

He was pleased to find her alone, and even more so to discover she had not noticed his arrival. With her back to him, she seemed wholly distracted by the sight of the waking city, by the busyness of the people meandering through the streets so far below. The wind touched at her hair, radiant and gleaming in the sun. It was almost blinding.

With slow steps he approached her until he stood beside her, his arms tucked behind his back. Age had made her taller, but he was still surprised by how petite she was. It pleased some small part of him to know he towered over her still.

For a long while she did not speak nor acknowledge his presence despite the mere inches between them. Briefly he considered broaching the silence, but it was her who finally broke it.

"Have you come to mock me more, my Lord?" Her voice was quiet but cool, controlled. "Have you come to tell me how childish I am?"

Loki laughed, and in his peripheral vision he saw her look up to him finally. "Pouting still, are we?"

"No," she answered, too quickly. He smiled knowingly and looked down at her. "I am not."

"Your skill with lying is a little lacking, I am afraid." He made a tsking noise with his tongue and his teeth, smiling at her. "Truly you were not actually wounded by my words?"

This time she did not answer, only giving him a pointed look before looking away.

Loki watched her for a moment, intently, studying her in profile. Her face was guarded, her eyes clear, her mouth relaxed. He would have guessed her unaffected entirely, but there was a tension between her bare shoulders that gave her away. He could see it in the way the muscles seemed to tremble behind the smooth, white skin of her back.

"I did not recognize you immediately, and I suppose I shall take the blame for that scar on your heart. But your name was never something I forgot." He paused for effect. "Aeri."

Still she did not look at him, but he saw her fingers curl around the railing in response.

"I was both cruel and churlish last night, as you found me in a rather unfortunate mood. Now, I am often both cruel _and _churlish, but last night had me in spectacularly low spirits. If I wounded you, it was not my intention." He laughed again, softly. "Had it been my intention, I think you would not be allowing me to speak to you at all, now."

"Is that an apology?" Her tone was sharp, indignant, and he appreciated it – respected it – more than he did the simpering display from the night before.

"Not quite, I am afraid. Apologies are not exactly my forte."

"Practice makes perfect. You cannot wish for something and expect it to happen, after all." She sounded so serious, but there was a trace of irony there that made him laugh again.

"Ah, but that would suggest I actually _desired_ to learn," he managed through his laughter. "Apologizing means admitting you were wrong, and it is so much more enjoyable to always find yourself always in the right."

"One might call that delusional, my Lord." He saw a tiny smile playing at the corners of her lips, the expression more playful than mocking.

"Perhaps," he conceded, not allowing himself to be bothered with her tiny bit of verbal sparring. "But are delusions not pleasant things? Are our dreams not the most pleasant of places? Be honest with me: are you truly happier in reality than you are in your fantasies?"

She shifted her weight from one foot to another, her expression unreadable – though he detected a faint blush to her pale cheeks. "Of course not. We dream to give ourselves pause from the exhausting confines of reality. But you suggest living reality as if it were the fantasy."

"And why should I not?" He pushed further, turning fully to face her. "I told you long ago – and you obviously remember – that dreaming and wishing are not enough. We must actively take measures to achieve the things we desire most. The best way to do that is to embrace those desires, live them, _become _them. Does that not make sense?"

"It makes sense, and I can even see where it might work," she began slowly. "But that is entirely selfish rationale, and it hardly corresponds with the norms of society."

Loki found it strange and almost alien that she could both disagree with him and seem so placid, so lacking in judgment. He had expected her to tell him what a terrible person he was; expected her to call him a monster. Instead she stood, looking up at him expectantly, patiently. He frowned down at her, unsure of how to feel.

"But 'societal norms' are nothing but a facade; we are all inherently selfish and egotistical, desiring only to serve our baser natures. Most simply hide it behind masks of politeness and morality because they lack the conviction to embrace those darker needs. They need rules and regulations to feel safe; their own true selves terrify them."

"To live without rules would be chaos," she pointed out, with raised eyebrows. "To live without order would upend us _completely_."

"And I agree with you entirely," he smiled indulgently at her and shook his head. "People _do _need to be ruled, to be protected from themselves. There is a reason they hide the ugliness behind their kindnesses and their ideas of what is 'good' and 'righteous'. Not everyone is cut from a stock sturdy enough to handle embracing the shadows that lurk inside us all."

"And _you_ are?" She was staring at him with such a strange expression on her face that he couldn't place the emotion, but the blush had not left her cheeks.

"I do what I want," he said simply, and shrugged his shoulders again. "I take what I want, when I can."

"And are you _happy_?"

Loki considered her, thinking; wondering. It suddenly occurred to him that he could not recall a time when he had so frankly discussed his opinions with another person, when he had not hidden them behind lies and inconsistencies. He usually made an effort to guard himself against outsiders, and it struck him as perplexing that he should be so forthcoming. Still, he found himself oddly confident that he could trust her not to run her mouth. While honesty and loyalty were not two words he would have ever used to describe himself, he found them worthwhile attributes in other people. It made them easier to manipulate, after all.

"Not particularly, no."

Her eyes softened with something like sadness. "Then why do you - "

"Continue on in this fashion?" He interrupted her. "Because I have not yet achieved my goals. I am dissatisfied only because I have yet to attain what I want. Selfishness is still the best way to see them through."

"And what _do _you want?' Her voice was bleeding curiosity.

"Ah, ah, but that is enough about me for today, little bird." He chuckled. It was both amusing and somewhat endearing, the way her face fell immediately in response.

"Oh, come now!" She cried, lighthearted in her exasperation. "You cannot do that!"

"And why not?"

"Because it is not fair!" Aeri chided, shaking a small finger at him. "You cannot speak in riddles and then leave me guessing!"

"I think you are seeking the company of the wrong person if it is fairness you crave," Loki warned, only playing at seriousness.

"It was _you_ who found _me _this morning, my Lord," she reminded him, a full smile blossoming across her face. "In case you have forgotten whose company was sought."

"I suppose you are right," he allowed. "But it is still _you_ who is unwise enough to keep it."

Aeri was silent for a moment, her eyes searching his face as if she were looking for something. Then she turned from him, looking back out over the city, her hands sliding lightly across the railing. "I can handle being marked as unwise if it means I can keep your attention."

She spoke the words so quietly he almost couldn't hear hear them, even doubting that he had at first. But the slight flush to her cheeks had deepened from a faint pink to a warmer hue, and it was proof enough that she had.

_She is smitten with me_. The thought dawned on him so suddenly that it took a few seconds for him to process, but the more he considered it, the more sense it made. An infatuation developed as a child, at first in passing, but left to grow, to blossom – it explained everything: why she had sought him out as a child, why she had found so much importance in the hair comb he had stolen for her, why she had not refused his company after their argument.

Most notably, it explained why she seemed so unaffected by his more radical beliefs; she was allowing her sentiment to create bias in his favor.

It wasn't that he didn't understand the concept. He had always watched how Thor's friends made excuses for his terrible decisions with disdain, disgusted by how their affections clouded their judgments. It was something even their father was guilty of, though to a lesser. While Odin tried to remain firm, he faltered often, catering to Thor's more ridiculous notions when Loki thought he should have been more strict.

But Loki was wholly unused to being on the receiving end of such preference. And while it was something he had looked upon unfavorably when practiced by other people, Loki found himself selfishly pleased by her predilection for him.

"Aeri." His use of her name startled her, and she turned her head up to look at him, the bright light of the sun highlighting the warm color flushed across her cheeks.

"Yes?" She sounded unsure, worried; he gathered she was afraid she had overstepped her boundaries.

"My father is planning on a series of feasts over the next week to celebrate my brother's acquisition of Mjolnir," Loki began, struggling to keep the derision from his voice at the mention of his brother. If she picked up on it, he didn't notice. "I do not normally enjoy feasts; the noise and the absurdity of them do not usually agree with me, but I am required to attend. As your father is a friend of my father's, I imagine that you will also be in attendance."

"Yes?" She seemed a bit more confident now, her 'yes' more pressing than the previous one.

"I find you a far cry less tiresome than I do most as of late," he continued. "And I was curious if you would grant me the blessing of your company."

Suddenly Aeri's arms were around him, her face pressed against his chest, laughter bubbling up from her like an unstopped spring. The gesture caught him by surprise and he found himself unsure of what to do with his hands. After a moment's consideration, he placed them lightly on her shoulders, her skin warm and smooth beneath his fingertips.

"You might practice your invitations and flattery, my Lord, but I would be more than pleased to go with you!" The happiness in her voice was palpable, and he found himself smiling in response.

"Does this mean you have forgiven me for last night?"

Aeri pulled away from him, leveling him with a playfully stern expression. "Is that an apology?"

Loki smirked. "Your luck is not quite that favorable today, I am afraid."

"Perhaps not, and I will not press it. Still, you _are_ in luck, my Lord, for I am a generous person!" She laughed again and gave him a small bow. "I forgive you, and if I were being honest... I found it difficult to hold it against you in the first place."

"So I am beginning to see," he responded with a knowing grin. Before she could question him as to his meaning, he reached into his jacket to retrieve the white-flower comb. He saw her eyes widen as the silver of it caught the light.

"Oh! You remembered it!" She clapped her hands together, looking incredibly pleased.

"But of course. And I must make a request."

"Yes?" Her eager countenance was touched with that same childish enthusiasm he remembered her having so long ago. It was both strange and satisfying to know he was the cause of it – both then and now.

He held the comb out to her, and she took it from him gingerly, almost reverentially. "You must wear it at the feast." He paused, thinking, and then added with a strange smile, "For me."

For a moment, she seemed to glow as bright as the sun. "I will," she chirped, happily. "I will!"


	6. ACT I: Old Fashioned Notions

**Old-Fashioned Notions**

**AN: **This chapter could be called 'dress porn, the chapter', because I got a little too into describing Aeri's dress. :B Don't worry, there's some LokixAeri stuff at the end, with guest star: Aeri's dad!

* * *

_**Aeri**_

Aeri's feet barely touched the floor as she danced about her room, swaying and prancing to music only she could hear. The sun was just rising, filling her room with welcome sunlight, though she had been awake long before the sun. Sleep did not come easy for a girl so excited. The coming night held so much potential with its chance of childhood dreams fulfilled, and Aeri could barely catch her breath when she thought too much on it. The first feast – it had been two days since he had asked her, two excruciating days that she had spent impatiently counting the hours, and then, as it had drawn closer, the minutes – the first feast was finally here.

The hours until evening seemed like an eternity more to wait after two days of the same, and she turned her gaze to her balcony with an impish kind of frustration. "Hurry," she whispered, pleading with the sun, a smile unfurling across the warm pink of her lips. "Move quickly, my dearest friend."

The sun did not answer, but she didn't hold its silence against it. Instead, she turned to her chest of possessions, plucking quickly through her dresses. Most of what she had brought with her were simple daily gowns in even simpler colors with little detail; they flattered her, but they were hardly the sort of thing one wore to a feast as grand as the one she had been asked to attend. Truthfully she did not spend as much time preening as other Elven girls did, and she favored those more basic gowns for their utility, but the Asgardian court embraced the ostentatious and prided itself on its luxuries. For the first time that she could remember, she was glad her father had insisted that she have a few gowns for more prestigious occasions.

She had brought all of those with her, for there were only three: one of silvery-white cloth that shimmered like clear moonlight, one of golden cloth that glimmered as the rays of the morning sun, and one a pale violet, evoking images of a blossoming twilight. Of the three, the silver-white one was her favorite and most familiar, a more mature version of the fashion she already favored. Her mother had had it tailored especially for Aeri, loving the way the color of the fabric had matched Aeri's long white-gold hair.

But Aeri thought she had favored white gowns enough since arriving in Asgard, and she wanted to make a statement; she wanted to make sure Loki would never again forget her. Tucking the silvery dress back into the chest, she turned her attention back to the other two.

The golden one had been her father's favorite, particularly since her mother had passed. It had even belonged to her mother, a gift from her father many years ago, and it had suited her mother's vibrant golden hair. Aeri ran her fingers across the fabric, savoring the rich feel of it. The dress was as familiar to her as her dearest memories, but the sight of it made her throat tighten. It had been two years since her mother's passing, and though she had worn it a few times since then, it remained still her _mother's _dress. Aeri could distinctly remember her wearing it on one of the long walks they used to take through the forests, remember her mother laughing and asking Aeri to sing as she had danced across the mossy green, the dress catching and reflecting the sparkling sunlight.

Aeri put that dress back in the chest with the silvery-white one, her eyes damp. No, she did not want to risk those memories surfacing at the wrong time. Loki, it seemed, was not one for tears.

That left only the violet one. It was one she had chosen for herself, and one she had been given no chances to wear. She had loved the color, loved the cut, loved everything about it. Set against the milk-white of her skin and the shimmering silver tresses of her hair, the darker hue gave her a soft but radiant glow, like a polished pearl.

Her father had been wary of it from the beginning, mainly disapproving of how much flesh it left bare, and had almost refused her. But Arnkell had always had a difficult time refusing Aeri or his wife any of their desires, and Aeri had won him over with a fair bit of pleading – but only after promising she would never wear it out of their house.

Arnkell had been right, Aeri had to agree; it was a rather showy gown, leaving not only her throat and shoulders bare, but quite a bit of her midriff. To call it a gown was even a little misleading. The tiered, gossamer fabric of the skirts was where the resemblance to a gown both began and stopped, and her father had taken issue with even that. The cloth was sheer, and provided decency only through the abundant number of fluttering layers.

The bodice was not connected to the skirt, and though the fabric itself was opaque, it was the thing her father had been most worried about. Held up by the most delicate of silver chains, it covered her breasts and little else. She could still hear him, still see the sharp disapproving frown of his mouth.

"_I agree it is a lovely gown, Aeri, but... not on my daughter." He would not even look at her, his brow furrowed with his distaste._

_Running her fingers across the airy ruffles of the skirt, she lifted her tone an octave, pleading. "But Father, I have never seen another dress like it! The merchant said the chains were Dwarven made; the cloth a blend of both Asgardian and Elfheim's finest!"_

"_That is all well and good, of course, and if you were trying to win my favor for a fine pair of bedsheets you would have it. But this..."_

"_Oh, but Father, please, please, I will never ask for another dress again! You know I am not normally swayed by them, Father!"_

_Her father leveled her with a stern look, one she returned with an exaggerated pout. "Mother would have let me," she mumbled, crossing her arms across her chest, breaking his gaze._

"_Oh Aeri, that is not fair and you know it." He'd sighed, running his hands through his short blonde hair. It had been a year since she had died, and it was still a sore spot for both of them. "If you really want it, you shall have it – "_

_Aeri had looked up at him, ecstatic._

"_But only on one condition." His voice gave no broker for bargaining. "As long as you share my house, you are not to wear it in public. In fact, I would be more comfortable knowing you will not wear it out of your room."_

"_But father – "_

"_No, do not bother. You may save it and wear it as much as you please once you have found yourself a husband or have made arrangements for your own residences elsewhere. I know that these styles of gowns are popular, but I fear I just cannot bear to see you in this."_

Aeri had done as her father had asked, and kept it hidden in her closet for a whole year, putting it on only late at night and waltzing about her quarters in Alfheim. She had loved the way it swished around her legs, adored the way it highlighted the slender curves of her body. It had been her only real indulgence, one she had kept secret even from friends.

Now she sat with the gown sprawled across her lap, considering, debating. Her father was no doubt going to be in attendance at the feast, but she knew him well enough to know it was not a subject he would broach with her while there. His disagreement with her over the dress in the first place had been a rare thing; Arnkell was a warrior, one who had traveled extensively with Odin when they were both younger men, but he had always hated conflict, especially with his wife or daughter.

It would be something she would suffer for after the fact, no doubt, but she was fairly certain it would be worth the consequence.

On a whim, she freed herself from her nightgown and slid into the dress. It had been a few months, and she marveled at how soft it felt against her skin, more like the touch of a faint breeze than an actual gown.

Looking up, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror, twirling before it, taken with the resplendent girl who beamed back at her. The skirts danced around her legs, swirling and drifting gently. "You will not be able to call me a child _now_, my Lord," she murmured to herself, piling her long hair atop her head to study the gentle slope of her white shoulders.

A knock at her door startled her from her reverie, and she fled from the mirror, taking cover behind the dressing screen in the corner. "Yes?" She called out, praying it wasn't her father.

"Aeri, may I speak with you?" Her luck had been too kind to her as of late, she supposed. Of course it was her father.

"Let me have a moment, Father! I am changing!"

Hastily she switched from the violet gown to one of the dresses she favored for daily use, taking care to stash the culprit at the bottom of her chest. On quick feet she made her way to the door, opening it to find her father, patient and unsuspecting.

"You seem rather excited," he commented dryly, and she felt a slight flush rise to her cheeks.

"Yes, well, it has been a long while since I have attended a feast in Asgard," she began, trying to keep her voice at a regular pace, knowing she would appear guilty if she spoke too quickly.

"Is that the only reason?" The question was leading and it made her uncomfortable.

Briefly she worried that he somehow knew. Perhaps he'd looked through her belongings and found the dress, and now he suspected she wanted to wear it at the feast. But that was unlike him, as Arnkell had never been one to pry.

"Well..." She started, floundering almost immediately.

Arnkell sighed, and shook his head. "You are going _with _someone?" He offered, looking at her expectantly.

Aeri blinked up at her father, surprised. "Is _that _what thisis about?" She could not keep the relief from her voice.

"Now I am curious as to what _'this' _might actually be," he chuckled, shaking his head at her. "But I am not sure I want to know. So I will pretend I did not hear that. Yes, that is what _this _is about."

Her blush deepened, and she looked at her feet. She supposed she should have mentioned it. "Well, I am attending with _someone_..."

"So I have heard," he continued. "From more than a few people, if I am to be honest. And while I am being honest, I must admit I had hoped _you_ would be the one to tell me."

Aeri said nothing, still looking at the ground. Her father did not sound exactly disappointed, but he did not sound pleased either.

"Generally with matters of courting it is good to make sure one's family approves," Arnkell pointed out. "But you have been rather scarce these past few days. The first night we arrived, your spirits were sailing – and then, the next morning, you were as sullen as a child. Now you are buoyant again, and while I am pleased to see you well, I must say I am worried by your evasive nature. I would have expected you to tell me that you were going with someone."

She looked up at him, trying quickly to formulate a way to defend herself. "I – "

"Ah, Aeri," a smooth voice called from down the hall, causing both Aeri and Arnkell to jump. They looked to see Loki approaching them, his leather boots clicking against the floor, his hands tucked behind his back. He greeted them with a wide smile, and Aeri detected a note of warmth to it that she had not seen him use before.

He stopped a few feet from them, and addressed her father. "You must be Arnkell – either that or the resemblance is quite the uncanny coincidence," he began pleasantly, offering a polite bow to the Elvish warrior. "My father has spoken much of you, and with great fondness, to be sure. You were one of his closest friends, yes?"

"Loki, son of Odin," Arnkell returned the greeting and the bow, though it was lower and more respectful. When he righted himself, Aeri noted a strange sort of discomfort in her father's expression, though he remained polite. "You are right; I traveled much with your father in our shared youth. It is a shame that we have never properly met. I believe the last I spoke with you, you were but a child the height of your father's knee."

"A good many years ago, to be sure," Loki laughed, his demeanor easy and welcoming. "You were with him at Jotunheim, yes?"

Arnkell shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Yes, I was." His expression betrayed nothing, but Aeri thought she heard something off in his voice.

"My father never speaks much of it to me, though I have asked him many times. Perhaps you would indulge me with tales of it, one day."

"As it pleases you," Arnkell answered all too quickly. Aeri could detect something in the conversation was making him feel uncomfortable, though she could hardly gather what. Loki was being nothing but charming. It was a side to him she had never seen, but the sight of him so congenial made her heart flutter.

"You are actually just the man I wanted to see; but do not worry, my friend, I shall not try your patience with demands for stories. I suspect you are busy, as are we all, readying for Thor's _nights_ of glory." Loki caught Aeri's gaze for a moment, and his smile widened. She could only stare at him, wondering what he was playing at.

"And what would Odin's son require of me, then?" Arnkell asked, tucking his own hands behind his back as he looked up at the much taller man.

"Oh, 'require' is such a stern and serious word, my good Arnkell; tonight is a night of celebration!" Loki took a step forward, closing the space between them to put his arm around Arnkell's shoulders. "You see – and I suspect you might have heard all ready – I have asked your lovely daughter to accompany me to the feasts."

Loki's use of the word lovely to describe her made Aeri feel as if she might melt into the floor. She had to lock her knees to make sure she didn't lose her balance.

Her father looked unfazed. "Yes, I had heard those rumors, actually," he remarked, casting a look in Aeri's direction that was entirely lost on her, given that her attention was wholly focused on Loki.

Loki removed his arm from Arnkell's shoulder and granted him an apologetic look. "It occurred to me only last night that I had been rather hasty in my invitation. I must beg your pardon that it took me two days to consider your feelings, my friend, but I have been rather caught up in the general excitement."

"Beg your pardon for what, my Lord?" Arnkell's tone was one of genuine curiosity.

"Why, that I did not ask for your blessing first, of course!" Loki laughed again, steepling his fingers before him as he bowed his head in apology. "And that is why I am here, why I have sought you out. Allow me to ask for your blessing, that I might keep your daughter's company."

Arnkell watched Loki for a long moment, and for that one long moment, Aeri was terrified her father would say no. She took a step forward, her eyes darting between her father and Loki. Loki, however, did not break her father's gaze.

"Father, I – "

Arnkell held up his hand to silence her, addressing only Loki. "I appreciate you coming and asking me. There is nobility in the gesture, and while that gesture might be viewed as somewhat outdated, I still favor the tradition. As such, you have my blessing." He cast another look in Aeri's direction, this one considerably darker than the last. "Though I must admit I am disappointed my own daughter was not so forthcoming."

Aeri shrank from his gaze, trying to find the words to defend herself, but she was too caught between guilt and elation to find her voice. It was Loki who answered for her. "Oh, do not be so harsh with her, my friend. She is yet young, and has surely misplaced her better judgment in her giddiness."

"I suppose you are right," Arnkell sighed, then bowed again. "Thank you for considering my feelings Loki, son of Odin." When he stood, he turned to Aeri, and shook his head. "I will see you at the feast tonight, love. I was asked to share breakfast with Odin, and I fear I may have already kept him waiting."

"My father will surely judge you not, Arnkell," Loki soothed. "You are too fine a man for that."

Arnkell did not respond with anything more than a nod in Loki's direction and then he was gone, disappearing down the hall in the same direction Loki had come from.

"Thank you," Aeri whispered, looking up at Loki with an expression of awe, still finding it a struggle to speak.

He regarded her in silence for a while, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face. "But of course," he said, finally. "Your father seemed unnecessarily worried. Are you and he close?"

"I was closer to my mother," Aeri admitted, thankful he was priming her with easy questions. "But we have grown closer out of necessity since she passed."

"He cares much for you," Loki observed, almost like an afterthought. "You are an only child?"

"I am."

"I think it is better that way," he murmured, the look in his eyes faraway.

She took the pause in conversation to study him, to really _look_ at him. He was more slender than most Asgardians – especially when compared to his brother – his build more similar to the lean, muscular build of an Elven warrior. There was something she found comfortingly familiar in that, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Elven men were fair haired and short of stature, Loki's dark locks and towering height served as a counterpoint to what she was most accustomed to. He made her feel so tiny and small, the top of her head barely reaching the start of his chest. She had to tilt her head back to get a good look at his face. She favored the sharp lines of his face, the high cheek bones, the severity of his mouth. He had none of the warmth of her people, none of the feminine delicateness of their features.

It was his darker appearance that gave her heart such trembling palpitations; it was the rareness of his smile. She found herself aching for it desperately.

When her eyes found his, she realized he had been watching her, studying her, and she felt her white cheeks flush again.

"I am sorry, my Lord," she began, trying not to trip over her words, averting her gaze from his face. "I did not mean to stare."

"Did you not?" He asked her, but his tone indicated he did not believe her, and the smile that surfaced was knowing.

"Well..."

"Have you ever been close with someone, Aeri?" His question took her by surprise, and she looked back up at him.

"What do you mean?"

He looked at her pointedly. "Have you been courted?"

She felt as if the heat of her blush would turn her to ash. Shaking her head a little more violently than she meant to, she laughed nervously. "No, I have not."

"Truly?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "You are lovely enough that I find that hard to believe."

"I suppose it was an avenue I never really pursued," she answered, willing her voice steady.

"Well, generally speaking it is a man who pursues _that_ avenue," Loki reminded her, chuckling.

Aeri crossed her arms across her chest and made a face at him. "That was a mistake of wording, then. I suppose I have been _pursued_, but never by anyone I took particular interest in."

"I see," Loki mused, a note of amusement in his voice. "Then little Aeri is a heart-breaker?"

Aeri coughed, lightly. "I would hardly consider myself that. I just find it misleading to pledge your affection to someone when, in reality, your affection already belongs to someone else."

"Mmmm..." The noise was warm and thoughtful and made Aeri feel somewhat dizzy. "Then your affections belong to someone already?"

Aeri suddenly wanted nothing more than to flee back into her room and press herself into the bed, buried beneath the furs. Mentally she chided herself for not watching her tongue better. But then a smile crossed her face, and she looked up at him.

"Ah-ah... I think," she said, her tone triumphant. "That is enough about me for today."

"Ahhh," he whispered, his green eyes flashing mischievously. "You are getting clever, little bird."

Suddenly he took her fingers in his, and when he bent his head to press his lips to the back of her hand she felt her toes curl beneath her gown. "I will see you tonight, Aeri. Remember," he lifted his head and kept it level with hers, his eyes gleaming. "Wear the comb for _me_."

He did not wait for her to respond. When he was gone, long strides taking him away from her and down the hall, she found she missed terribly the warmth of his fingers on hers.


	7. ACT I: Intoxication

**Intoxication**

**AN: **This chapter is shorter than the past few have been, but I'm going to have to break up the feast into a few different chapters for a few reasons: it would be too long if I put it all into one chapter, and my time isn't always a fount of infinity and it's easier to get things out in smaller updates.

Thanks for all the great reviews! I got some really nice ones this past day or so, and they seriously made my day. :3

Somewhat relatedly, I'm going to be changing the title of the fic next update, so I guess keep your eyes out for that. "The Hazards of Love" was one I picked kind of at random, but I found a perfect title while listening to a song on repeat forever like I always do when I write.

Anyhoo...

* * *

_**Loki**_

Loki was in a foul mood.

Arnkell's distaste had been well managed in most regards, but it had left Loki more than a little agitated. He had seen the hesitation in the Elven man's face, seen the way he had given pause. Loki knew Arnkell had ached to say no and to forbid Aeri from attending the feast all together. He suspected Arnkell had granted permission only because of who Loki was; to refuse Loki might go against Odin's favor, and Arnkell was too wise to tread on the affection of one of his closest friends.

Pacing the length of his quarters, he murmured curses beneath his breath, the sound escaping like a hiss between his clenched teeth. It had taken every ounce of control to remain polite and the effort was exhausting. This, he reminded himself, was why he avoided _courtship_.

Loki was not a stranger to the occasional amorous dalliance; most in the higher Asgardian courts were not. While he did not indulge as much as some – Fandral, for instance, was known to have a particular weakness for _any _girl with a pretty smile that would pay him the time of day – Loki took the opportunities when they arose. But Loki's liaisons were never more than one night affairs, nothing beyond the satisfaction of darker desires. He'd never wanted anything more.

The girls he favored were usually spirited and mouthy, with bright eyes and laughing mouths, drunk off their youthful confidence. Loki found them in the inns and taverns of the city, strangers with names he never bothered to learn. He was never gentle with them, and when they woke in the morning, he was always gone.

They were never anyone of any importance, with absolutely no ties to the court. It was the most important trait any of them ever possessed, and the only one he always required. Loki was nothing if not meticulous.

Courtship was another beast entirely. It required infinitely more thought, more lies, more smiles on his part. He had avoided it completely, too disinterested in any woman to find her worth his time or effort. Courtship involved families and schedules and expectations, things he did not deal well with or care for. It was something he knew that worried at Odin and Frigga's minds, that both of their sons seemed to have little interest in settling down. He suspected, with a wry smile, that Thor's reasons were much different from his own.

The humor did not last, and with a sigh, he allowed himself to collapse into a chair, waving his hand apathetically back and forth. The candles on his bedside table dimmed, scattering skittering shadows across his room. A quick glance to his window revealed the sun dipping below the jagged city-scape of the horizon. He would need to be collecting Aeri soon.

Pressing his fingertips together, he rested the bridge of his nose against them and gathered his thoughts. _Perhaps it will not be so bad, _he thought to himself, running his tongue across his upper lip. _Her company was not wholly unpleasant._

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was somewhat unfair. He _had_ enjoyed conversing with her those mornings ago more than he had with anyone else in so many years – and he had certainly enjoyed the ego boost the discovery of her infatuation had provided.

It was a sad fact that pretty girls in the Asgardian court rarely paid him a passing glance. _And why would they, _he thought, bitterly, _When I can do nothing to escape Thor's shadow?_

Even when they did he could never allow himself to forget that he was only a second – or even a third, or fourth, or fifth – choice. Women fell for Thor because he was strong and handsome. Women _pretended _to fall for Loki because he was the son of Odin and because Thor was too busy playing hero to pay much attention to anything else. It was always so painfully obvious to him, the disfavor behind their simpering compliments, the ulterior motives behind their fluttering eyelashes.

But Aeri was different. It was as if she existed in a world where Thor did not for all the attention she paid him. Loki had not seen much of her over the two days that had passed since their morning meeting, but she had crossed his path a few times in the halls. The way her eyes always seemed to find him – and the way they brightened when they did – always gave him a little thrill. Loki knew with fair certainty that he was not her second, or third, or fourth choice. He was her first. He had been for years.

And knowing that was certainly _not_ unpleasant.

Loki allowed himself a smile, closing his eyes against the darkening room. The thought of her father's disapproval was less offensive now that his mood has calmed. _It might even be good entertainment, _he mused. _Throwing Arnkell's reservations back in his face._

A small, unobtrusive knock came at his door. For a moment he thought he might have imagined it, but then it sounded again, louder. Loki frowned. He hadn't been expecting anyone, and as a general rule no one called on him without prior notice – except Thor.

Rising from his chair he crossed the space to the door in two long paces.

"Who calls on me?" Loki had no desire to speak to Thor before he had to, and planned to cut his brother to the chase.

But the voice that called back wasn't Thor's. "I will give you three guesses!"

Despite himself, Loki smiled, pulling open the door "A generous offer, little bird, but you must doubt my prowess if you think I need three."

"Two, then?" She stood in his doorway, looking up at him, her expression expectant.

He was going to say something witty, something he imagined she'd find clever, but as soon as he got a real look at her he forgot entirely what he was going to say. It was not often that Loki found his silver tongue stilled, but it was not often he found himself truly surprised, either.

She stood before him in a violet gown – could he really call it a gown? – that danced around her slender form like a hazy twilight fog. But while the shimmering iridescence of the fabric was certainly breathtaking, it was the sheer amount of skinit left bare that was the most eye-catching.

"Well," he began, brazenly letting his eyes slide across her body. It was so difficult not to let his gaze linger. "That is certainly a _dress_."

"Are we back at three guesses, then?" Aeri laughed, the sound light and bubbling. She blushed despite her confidence; it was becoming a familiar sight. "Have I mentioned my generosity? I will give you a hint: my name begins with an 'A'."

"We are getting bolder, mmm?" He placed his hands behind his back and leaned down a bit so that his face was more level with hers, and only a mere few inches away. "I certainly would have never expected something like _this _of _you_."

Her smile faltered. "Does it displease you?" She sounded worried. "There is still time for me to change..." She made as if to move away from him, but he caught her shoulder. Her skin felt so smooth and warm beneath his fingers, and he couldn't keep from sliding his thumb a fraction of an inch over to brush against her collar bone. He saw her eyes widen at the intimacy of the touch.

"No," he breathed, grinning with teeth. "Leave it. It is fine."

"Fine?" Her floundering courage had found its feet again, and she gave him an exaggerated pout. "Only fine? My Lord must not share in my generous nature."

"Does your heart yearn so desperately for my compliments?" The question was leading; he already knew the answer.

She looked away from him, pressing her tongue between her teeth as she mulled over her choices. "What lady does not seek compliments from a man she keeps company with?" It was a careful answer, guarded. She was clearly not one to admit her feelings so easily, an irony considering how easy she was to read.

"Ah, now you play at being coy?" His tone was teasing, and he pulled her closer to him so that their bodies stood almost flush against each other. She seemed startled by the gesture, and even more startled by their sudden closeness.

"Just this once, I will be generous: it _is_ lovely, but I suspect you knew I would find it so. And I suspect you know I would find _you _even more so."

He laughed again lowered his head further, so that their cheeks were almost touching, his mouth near her ear. They were so close he could feel her shiver against him when he exhaled, whispering, "But this shall be our secret, hmm? You must hold your tongue, for I am _never _generous, and if any one were to suspect, well – I have a reputation to uphold after all, little bird."

The smell of her perfume was intense, spicy with notes of flowers and cinnamon. The fragrance was pleasant, warmed as it was by the heat of her skin, and almost intoxicating. He closed his eyes and breathed her scent in, his breath stirring her hair.

"I wore it for you," she murmured, obviously overwhelmed.

"The dress?" He asked, distractedly. There was a familiar warmth beginning to seep its way through him, feverish and demanding. He set his jaw against it, trying to will it away.

"The hair comb."

It took him a moment to realize what she meant; he had almost forgotten entirely. Placing his free hand on her other shoulder, he straightened to get a better look at her hair and at the comb.

"So you have." He was careful to keep his voice controlled. These sorts of situations never arose with the threat of consequence, and it was why he always sought women beyond the all-seeing eyes of the court. "Good girl."

It wasn't often that Loki questioned the strength of his self-control, but he was beginning to question it now. It had been a long time since he had stalked the streets of the city, and his apathy was coming back to spite him now. He needed a distraction.

Dropping his hands from her shoulders, he gave her a tight smile. "We should head down to the feast now, Aeri." The feast; there were so many other things Loki would have preferred to indulge in besides a _feast _celebrating his _brother. _He imagined it would work just as well as a cold bucket of water. "There is no sense in wasting your eagerness."

"What do you mean?" Aeri looked a little bewildered by the sudden lack of his closeness, and more than a little unsteady. He supposed she was not used to such blatantly ardent overtures if she had truthfully refrained from keeping the company of any suitors, and if that were the case, he imagined she might feel more than a little overwhelmed. He offered her his arm and she took it readily, gratefully. It amused him how she could only manage her hand against forearm, as he was too tall for her to loop her arm through his.

"You were the one to seek me out tonight. I hope I did not keep you waiting." He began guiding her down the hall, taking slow and careful steps. "Impatience is a rather tiresome thing."

"Impatience has been my closest companion these past few days," she laughed, the easy nature of her smiles returning to her as she regained some of her composure. "I do hope you forgive my boldness; I was growing somewhat displeased with his constant company."

"I am sure," he said through a smirk. "That you will find me at least a more _interesting _companion than Impatience."

"Of that I have no doubt." She looked up at him, smiling, glowing.

He did not doubt it, either, but he for once he kept his arrogant observations to himself, granting her only a knowing smile.


	8. ACT I: Shared Status

**Shared Status**

**AN: **So at this rate the feast will be several chapters long. That wasn't my initial plan, but it's how it's happening. I can't really help myself, as I have a tendency to get too self-indulgent with fanfiction. Before anyone asks, yes, this is going somewhere! :v I have most things planned out even through the Avengers timeline. I just like... taking my time.

Also the title change happens today. We're switching from "The Hazards of Love" to "Only the Weak are not Lonely", which is a line from Nightwish's "Slow, Love, Slow". I even considered using "Slow, Love, Slow" as the title because I think the song suits the story well (and who doesn't like coming up with song themes for their stories? Or is that more self-indulgent behavior?) Hopefully I won't confuse too many people with the change!

And at the risk of being redundant again, thanks for the reviews; they're very motivational!

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_**Aeri**_

For the second time that week, Aeri wished desperately to be taller. She had imagined walking with him on more than one occasion, and in her mind they had fit together perfectly, her arm hooked delicately in his. The reality of it was that she was simply too short for that. He did his best to accommodate her, even leaning a bit down so that she might more easily keep her hand on his lower arm, but she could tell by his occasional smirking glance that he found the situation somewhat comical. She doubted they looked anywhere near as elegant as they _could_ have if she were just a few inches taller.

As they made their way through the seemingly endless halls of the palace, Aeri found herself jealous of the tall, leggy glamor of the Asgardian women. They seemed so powerful and confident, so resplendent in their lovely gowns. Doubt was beginning to work its way at the back of her mind, gnawing at her confidence.

They walked in silence until they reached a long, wide hallway filled with people, standing in a haphazard sort of line that seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. Aeri stood on her tip toes in a vain attempt to see where the line bottomed out, but it was a vain attempt. She settled back on her heels with a huff.

Loki's laughter beside her drew her attention from the line. Looking up at him, she pulled a face, her nose crinkled, her tongue between her teeth. "Do not tease me so!"

"About what, my little bird?" He looked entirely too innocent for her to believe he was.

She held her hand to the top of her head and raised it up, gesturing in an exaggerated fashion. "My heritage, and thus my stature, is nothing I can help," she pouted. "I regret it enough as it is without your mockery, my Lord."

"There is nothing to regret," he chided as he shook his head and granted her one of his rare genuine smiles. "Asgardians find your race particularly beautiful. I have heard some describe Elves as 'fairer than the sun'. Even Thor's own Sif has expressed jealousy over your beauty, and how easily it comes to your people. Why would you lament such a blessing?"

She felt childish suddenly, and looked away from him – as much from shame as to hide her blush. She was still unused to his compliments, and it took a lot from her to keep a clear head when he paid them to her.

"I suppose there is truth to that," she allowed, taking a small step forward as the line surged onward. "It just is not something I am used to recognizing – at least in myself. In Alfheim, _everyone_ is fair and delicate. There is nothing unique about myself when compared to the rest of my people."

He lowered his head so that his jaw was near her temple, and when he spoke she could feel his lips brush against her skin. "Perhaps, but you are not in Alfheim. You are in Asgard, and in Asgard, you are an exotic, imported jewel." Aeri couldn't help the shiver that ran its way up and down her spine, tingling like cold fire in her fingertips. When he pulled away from her, she knew he'd felt it, too. His smirk gave him away.

She decided to change the subject – not because she did not savor his flattery, but because she was certain she'd be unable to maintain a rational and coherent conversation if he continued. "What exactly is this line for?"

Loki snorted, his smirk fading. "A feast is thrown for Thor, and all the realm seeks to be in attendance. But for as much as my father attempts to entertain everyone, there is simply too many eager for a look at the mighty Thor."

"Then it is by invitation only?"

"Not entirely," he shrugged. "But one _does_ need a bit of status to make it past the guard."

It was then that Aeri noticed that, while most people moved forward, there were a few moving against the crowd. They all seemed to share the same dour and disheartened expression.

"Of course Thor will find it in his heart to go into the city later, that they all might bask in his glory," Loki continued, his tone vaguely bitter. She could feel him tense beside her as he continued, "A placation for the scorned."

Aeri knew well enough of Loki's jealousy, and of the strange relationship the two brothers shared. It was something that most people seemed to not only understand but accept, and it was not entirely surprising considering how beloved Thor was by the Asgardian people. But where most people seemed to begrudge Loki his envy, Aeri sympathized with him. As a child she had often wished for a sibling, but had she found herself in a situation similar to Loki's, she suspected she might feel the same.

She leaned the side of her head against his arm in a small gesture of affectionate sympathy, her fingers lightly brushing against the skin of his wrist.

They took the rest of the line in silence, but it wasn't of an awkward sort. Though she felt it overly bold to continue to lean against him, she did not pull herself away, both as an expression of solidarity and because she found herself too excited by their shared closeness. He did nothing to discourage her, and in the few small glances she stole, he seemed pleased enough.

The hallway ended at an entryway with a pair of guards on either side. For the most part they allowed people entrance without a single glance, but a man a few paces ahead of Aeri and Loki was pulled suddenly from the line and sent back with little more a few murmured words. Aeri saw him turn against the crowd, his face scarlet, his expression mortified.

"You think they would know better than to try," Loki remarked dryly.

When Loki made his way through, leading Aeri beside him, the guards gave a small bow, their faces expressionless. Aeri watched them carefully; they seemed almost like living statues, stoic and cold.

"Do they really live?" She asked Loki incredulously.

"I used to wonder the same when I was a child," he grinned, catching her eyes. "And I have still yet to determine if they do."

Out in the feasting hall, Aeri felt herself overwhelmed with apprehension. They were lost in the middle of a sea of people, colors flashing, jewels glimmering, the lights from the fires painting everything in a flickering glow. Aeri had never seen so many people in her life contained by such a small space, and she clung warily to Loki's arm, feeling her heart hammering out an unsteady rhythm in her chest.

"I think I understand now, why you do not favor feasts!" She had to raise her voice to a near yell to be heard over the din of the room. There were so many conversations – thousands, she guessed – that the combined noise was like like the buzzing of a _hundred_ _thousand _insects.

He grinned at her. "It will calm down soon enough – after everyone of any real importance has arrived, of course." She had to read his lips to catch what he was saying; beside them a rather large woman was cackling with laughter that shook her heavy frame almost violently, and Loki's voice was lost to it.

Suddenly his mouth was at her ear, and even the low whisper of his voice was clear. "Come; you will sit with me at my father's table."

She felt him take a firmer hold of her arm, and he began to steer her through the crowd. He moved with a confident determination, and even the more raucous guests moved out of his way. Some gave him small nods; others let their gaze dart between the two of them, something like mild astonishment written across their faces; but most paid no attention, simply allowing themselves to be corralled like cattle.

As they moved, she let her gaze drift across the room, awed by the excess of it all. There were so many tables – she couldn't hope to count them – and every single one was buried beneath a mountain of food, half of which she couldn't even really identify. Fowl, lamb, boar – and then there were all the fruits and the barrels of mead. The plates all seemed to be made of the finest gold, set with jewels that caught the light of the fire and seemed to burn with borrowed flame. Already people were eating, indulging gluttonous appetites with copious amounts of meat and alcohol. With humor she suspect that many were already drunk.

At the head of the hall, the crowd thinned, and Aeri determined it was due to the diligence of the ever silent guards. The tables here were more elaborate, their legs carved to look like vine-covered pillars, the food atop them even richer still.

A quick glance revealed why. Aeri recognized the All-father and his lovely wife, Frigga, seated in the middle of the middle table. To their right sat Thor, and to _his_ right, his entourage: the warriors Sif, Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun. There was a pair of empty seats to the All-father's left, and Loki gestured in the direction of them with his free hand. "That is where we shall sit."

Aeri looked up at him, intimidated. "I have never kept such illustrious company before."

Loki looked amused. "Your father is a friend of mine; I was under the impression you had been previously acquainted."

Aeri was struggling to restrain her mounting panic. "But not like this! I do not have that kind of status, to sit there – with them – with – "

"With me," he soothed, catching her hand, rubbing her wrist with his thumb. "Tonight, _my_ status is yours, as you are _my _guest. Do not let your courage fail me now, Aeri."

He lead her by her hand to the table, and for a moment she caught herself marveling at his unwavering confidence. She had to remind herself that he dealt with this daily, that he had been raised as royalty, and that this sort of thing was commonplace for him.

As they made their way around the table, she could feel a great many eyes upon her, and she felt color rise to her face, warm and uncomfortable. Though she was not the only one showing off a fair bit of skin – she had seen even showier outfits in the hall – she was beginning to regret her choice of dress. It made her feel all the more open and exposed; it demanded attention, and at that moment, she wanted nothing of the sort.

When they arrived at their seats, Aeri saw Odin and Frigga rise, sharing together in a beaming smile. From the corner of her eyes she saw Loki fix his face with a controlled smile, one that did not share in their spirit.

"And so my son _has_ decided to bring his maiden-fair with him," the All-father spoke warmly, addressing them both. "I am so pleased to find those rumors true. It would have been a shame for your seat to have been empty, little Aeri."

Before either of them could respond, Odin took them both in his arms, crushing them against his broad chest. She saw Loki's composed expression flicker, saw for a moment his smile mirroring his father's glow. It was infectious, and she felt herself unable to keep from smiling herself.

As Odin released them, Frigga replaced him, her hug much more gentle. She brushed a kiss against Loki's forehead, then repeated the gesture for Aeri, bending down to gracefully to reach the smaller girl. "It is a pleasure to have you with us," she chimed, gesturing towards the chairs with a generous air. "Please, sit! Partake of the food; the speeches will begin soon enough, but for now, you should allow yourselves to relax and indulge!"

Loki took hold of Aeri's chair and held it out for her. She accepted the chance to sit gratefully, smoothing out her skirts before taking her seat. He took the seat between her and his father, and she noted with some dismay that his carefully constructed mask was back.

Suddenly Thor was behind them, slamming his hands down on either of their chairs. Aeri was glad to see she was not the only one who jumped.

"Brother!" Thor howled triumphantly, his cheeks ruddy, his eyes gleaming. Aeri could smell the mead on him. She began to will herself smaller, pressing herself into her seat; he was so large and intimidating. "So you _did _bring her! Fandral was placing bets that you would not – but I told him – I told him! - how could Loki not, when the little elf was so lovely and fair!" Thor roared with laughter, his hand beating against the back of Loki's chair again as if he had made the most hilarious joke in the world.

Aeri found herself almost afraid to look at Loki, fearful of the reaction she would find there. To her surprise Loki was not seething, but his smile was thin and humorless. "I placed a bet with myself," Loki began, raising his voice so that he could be heard down the table. "That Fandral would come alone. A pity that I were not playing with another for money. I could have made easy coin." With that Loki put his arm across the back of Aeri's chair and leaned over the table, no doubt, Aeri guessed, to scowl in Fandral's direction.

Fandral himself averted his gaze, his expression one of awkward annoyance. Beside him Volstagg laughed uproariously into his mug of mead, clearly as drunk as Thor. Hogun and Sif were more reserved, but Aeri could tell they were rather surprised that Loki _had _come with a guest in tow.

Thor leaned down between Loki and Aeri, his frame shaking with laughter. "Ah, Fandral, always the unlucky one in love," he slurred, as if they were all the closest of friends. Loki regarded him with coolly raised eyebrows, but did not answer.

"Truly, brother, I am glad you came. I hope your lovely maid can help you enjoy yourself more than you usually do; it is my sincerest wish that you might have fun tonight!" With that Thor clapped Loki on the back, and turned to wink at Aeri. "Do your best rouse his spirits, Lady; I bet your smile could warm even the most frigid of hearts." And then he took Aeri's hand, pressed a quick kiss to it, and was gone off down the table to prod at Volstagg and laugh at jokes neither of them could hear.

Aeri blinked, trying her best to process everything that was happening. Beside her Loki seemed very still, his expression unreadable as he slid his hands across the table, clearly uninterested in the food. When he turned to look at her finally, he had a strange, strained smile on his face.

She leaned over towards him, lowering her voice to a whisper. "We do not have to stay..."

"Ah, if only that were true," he sighed, the falseness of his smile relaxing to something more neutral. "There are _many_ things I would prefer to be doing right now."

She was about to ask him what that might be when Frigga appeared behind them, leaning down to address Aeri. "Oh, dear! Your father asked me to pass along a message: he will be at the feast, but only later in the evening. Some friends of his are visiting the city, and he went to greet them. I think he is bringing them with him when he arrives, but he told you not to worry in the mean time."

Aeri thanked Frigga for the relay, feeling slightly guilty that she had not thought once of her father since arriving. But thoughts of her father reminded her of the disappointment she was sure to face when he saw her in her dress, and she sunk further into her chair with apprehension.

Loki observed her for a moment, an eyebrow quirked. "You seem troubled with worry, suddenly."

She cast a glance in his direction and then shook her head slowly. "My father does not care for this dress."

"Oh?" There was as much a note of amusement in his voice as there was curiosity.

"That is actually an understatement," she amended, twisting her fingers in her lap. "He has actually forbidden me from ever wearing it outside of my room."

For a moment Loki let the silence draw out between them, but then his shoulders started shaking with quiet laughter. "So the little bird is directly defying her father? My, my, Aeri, that _is _unexpected." He gave her a wide smirk. "I _entirely_ approve."

"That does not make me feel any less guilty about it," she crossed her arms across her chest, more in an attempt to cover herself than anything. "I felt so sure of it before, especially once I had forgotten he was attending, but now..."

"Oh, come now." His green eyes glittered, ever mischievous. He took hold of one of her wrists and tugged, gently but insistently. "Do you not find a certain thrill in the defiance? Obedience can become so tiresome."

She pressed her lips together, thinking, debating on how to answer him. Before she could formulate a response, however, she noticed the entirety of the hall falling silent. It was then that she noticed Odin standing, and everyone seemed to be rushing to find seats in response.

Loki's attention too had moved from her, though his fingers still held her wrist. His focus had turned to Odin, a slight frown pulling at his brows.

"What is happening?" She leaned towards Loki, whispering.

Loki cast her a dark look, his grip on her wrist tightening. "They are preparing."

"For what?"

She saw him set his jaw. "For _speeches_."


	9. ACT I: Puppet Strings

**Puppet Strings**

**AN: **So I promise something actually dramatic will happen next chapter. (Did I promise that last chapter? If so, let me now mention I'm notoriously bad about keeping promises. If I didn't, well uhm... just ignore all of this entirely!) In the mean time, enjoy creepy!Loki, because I do so love excess character development.

I was really trying to stick to a once a day update schedule but Memorial Day kind of made that impossible. I've been really busy between real life obligations and such. :( Sad times!

Also I got some pretty generous reviews for the last chapter and they were all fantastic. As per **choclatxdol**l's suggestion, I also changed the summary so that it'd better reflect the story. (I hate summaries.) Thank you all so much for your kind words and suggestions. :3

* * *

_**Loki**_

If Loki had to pick one thing he despised most about speeches involving his brother, it was probably the reverential silence. For a room full of several thousand people – some more than a little drunk – the silence seemed impossible to maintain. But maintain it they did, with an effortlessness that infuriated Loki to no end.

When he was younger and more naïve, he'd imagined that there would be a day when the Asgardian public would grow tired of hearing about Thor's exploits. It was essentially the same thing rehashed over and over again in only vaguely different scenarios, but still they crowed endlessly over every little victory as if it were some tide-changing-by-the-skin-of-the-teeth miracle. It sickened him. They sickened him. _Thor _sickened him.

He never bothered to listen anymore. It was more an act of self-preservation than lack of interest – not that he was ever particularly interested – as an excess of Thor-inspired adulation was a guaranteed way to sour his mood for days after. If it had been a viable option, he would have avoided the feasts all together, but as much as he hated to admit it Odin's disappointment was still a rather strong deterrent.

With a sigh he sank further into his chair, pressing his fingertips together. Odin had already spoken, as had Frigga, and now Volstagg was rambling on, very obviously drunk. Every so often something he said managed to elicit laughter from the crowd, the noise the only break in the monotony of the silence. Loki was not paying enough attention to connect the laughs with anything resembling actual humor on Volstagg's part, but he doubted there was a connection anyways. Volstagg had never been particularly intelligent, let alone amusing.

Inclining his head back, he stole a glance at Aeri. Her posture was straight and rigid, her hands folded delicately in her lap, her eyes following Volstagg as the bumbling giant paced a wobbly line back and forth in front of their table. But she caught the movement of his head and met his gaze with an unsure smile.

She seemed so tiny in the chair – it had been carved for someone with an Asgardian's size, and it dwarfed her completely – and beneath the table he could see the toes of her feet just barely dusting the floor. When she caught his gaze lingering on her feet and the way they dangled, she made a face at him, the gesture innocent in its teasing nature.

Loki responded by stretching his own long legs before him in an over-exaggerated manner, unable to suppress a grin when he saw her stifle a laugh behind her hand.

The gesture reminded him suddenly of his childhood – how he and Thor, as boys, had often sat together at feasts, whispering conspiratorially to each other in an effort to stave off the dullness of endless speeches. Their blatant disregard had been excused because they were children, but it was something Frigga had scolded them for as they got older until neither of them could manage the courage to continue. Briefly Loki wondered if Thor still hated speeches as much now as he had when he was a child. _But how could he, _Loki chided himself bitterly, _when every single one is nothing more than a heralding of his glory?_

It was only when Loki felt Aeri's fingers brushing the back of his hand that he realized his teeth were clenched and that the muscles in his jaw and neck were aching from the tension. When he turned his attention to her again she seemed to lose her nerve, her hand darting away from his as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. She seemed embarrassed, but her eyes registered an attentive concern, her pink lips curved downward in a worried frown.

She leaned her chin upon her hand, and mouthed at him from behind the delicate curl of her fingers: "Are you all right?"

He gave her a thin smile but chose not to respond; it reminded him too much of those times so long ago with Thor.

And the speeches continued, from Volstagg to Fandral and then to Sif. Hogun had nothing to say; he rarely had anything to say, and it was something Loki had always begrudgingly appreciated. Stony silence was a far cry better than Sif's bitter tongue or Fandral's constant mockery, even if he knew Hogun disapproved of him just the same.

When Sif took her seat, Odin stood again, his voice booming out across the hall. It was difficult for Loki to ignore his father; something about the All-father demanded attention. "My friends, I thank you again for sharing in our fortune – and our food!" The hall roared with excitement, a thousand hands lifting mugs of mead into the air. "Blessings upon all of you – let us sing – let us dance – let us _feast_!"

Then Odin took Frigga on his arm and made his way out into the throng. The two were swallowed up by the mass, embraced by people Loki didn't know and didn't care to know. It was only a moment before Thor and his companions followed suit, leaving Loki and Aeri alone at the table.

Loki exhaled sharply, the noise of it lost in the screaming assent of the crowd. Aeri looked rather taken aback by the tumultuous nature of the hall's occupants, watching with wide eyes as everyone seemed to scatter at random from the tables.

She leaned towards him, catching his sleeve with her fingers. "Is that... it?"

He laughed a little, catching her hand in his and rising to his feet. "Unfortunately not, little bird, but as far as vapid indulgences go, the worst is over."

She let him guide her to her feet, and he couldn't help his wandering eyes. She was a pretty girl, that much had been readily apparent from those few nights before, but the dress did such a fantastically alluring job of highlighting all the most delightful parts of her figure. With her hair loosely tucked behind her head, affixed with his silver comb, she was a petite vision of loveliness, and he took a bit of pride in the thought that she had come for _him_. But Aeri was for once oblivious to his admiration, her own eyes darting around the room as if looking for something.

"Did your father mention something about dancing?" She asked, obviously distracted – and as if on cue, the room gave pause as a rumble of drums began to echo around them, beating out a slow and steady rhythm.

Aeri made a small but excited noise, and the sound drew Loki's attention from the gentle, feminine curve of her waist and back to her face. She looked simply ecstatic, her smile wide and giddy, her attention fixed across the room on a group of musicians who had settled themselves in the corner.

"I do not remember music the last time I was here," she breathed wistfully, turning her gaze back up to Loki just as the lute player bent over his instrument, lending a few tentative notes to the drums.

"The banquet you attended as a child hardly qualified as a feast, and was nowhere near this size, but I suppose at your age it must have seemed as much." His tone was amused. "You enjoy music, then?"

"Oh, more than anything. My mother always loved to sing, and it was an affection she passed on to me. My earliest childhood memories are of music." She smiled up at him, her expression dreamy and soft. The sound of a flute fluttered through the room suddenly, like the rapidly beating wings of a small bird, high and light and sing-song. Aeri closed her eyes, clearly savoring the sound.

"And do you sing as well?" He was genuinely curious now.

"Well, modesty is a virtue..." She began evasively, smiling up at him teasingly.

"As is honesty," Loki countered, returning her grin.

"Then I would say I have some fair bit of talent," she admitted, looking away from him and back at the musicians. They were in full song now, their melody washing over the room and lending a gaiety to the already festive occasion.

Loki did not like how her attention faltered. In all the time she had spent with him, she had never once seemed interested in anything else. But now she stood as if transfixed, her eyes watching with fascination as the lute player plucked at the strings of his instrument with long and elegant fingers.

He would have none of it.

Slowly he bent his head, lifting her hand towards his face. The gesture worked to recapture her attention; she looked back at him – obviously shocked – just as he pressed his slightly-open-mouth to the back of her fingers. Aeri's eyes went impossibly wide as he slipped the wet-heat of his tongue between his lips, tasting at the sweetness of her skin for but a second before sealing his lips against her skin with a kiss. The kiss itself was excruciatingly slow, and he held her gaze the entire time, smirking against her fingers. The way she seemed to squirm excited him, the way her breath seemed to hitch rekindling that fire in the pit of his stomach.

Impulsively he tugged at her hand, pulling her off balance. Aeri stumbled against him with a muffled cry, her free hand grasping at the leather of his long coat to steady herself. It was with a wicked sense of satisfaction that he realized she did not let go even after she had regained her balance. That same satisfaction – or was it arrogance? – reassured him she was no longer thinking about music.

But Loki had to be sure, and she would _not _look up at him. "You allow yourself to play victim to your own modesty," he whispered, his voice low and smooth. "Do you remember what I told you about taking what you want?"

She looked up at him, her eyes round with nervous alarm – but there was no denying the flame of desire that smouldered there. Loki had to remind himself that she was completely inexperienced when it came to matters of flirtation and sexuality, especially considering she had refused the attentions of potential suitors. Unlike the girls he found in the cities, she had no idea how to handle things like sensualism and lust, constrained as she was by the rigid restrictions and expectations of her station.

Normally Loki had no patience for the inexperienced and unfledged, and he made a point to seek out women who knew very well what they were doing and how to please. When he had only a few hours to spend, it was better to take what he needed and leave. He sought them out seeking to satisfy a physical urge and there was simply no time for the elaborate emotionally-charged mind games he enjoyed playing with other – often unwitting and unwilling – people.

The thought of consolidating the two had occurred to him, of course. He had never acted on the temptation, but it was more from a lack of opportunity than from lack of interest. And now he stood with opportunity pressed readily against him, warm and sweet, yielding and entirely malleable. Loki couldn't help the grin that pulled at his lips, and it was a struggle to smother the tickling sensation of laughter building in his throat. _Oh, but it is just too perfect._

He lifted his hand and let his fingers trace the line of her jaw, feather-light and impossibly slow. When she trembled in response to his touch, he could feel it against him, vibrating through him – and when he took her chin in his fingers and tilted her head back further she did not resist him.

Around them, he could hear the buzz of the crowd, the sound of the music swelling, the clattering noise of plates and and mugs on the wooden tables. Around them there was a fast-paced blur of color as people moved to converse, to dance, to eat. But for one long moment, Loki saw and heard none of that, entirely captivated by what he saw in her upturned face.

There was something almost _endearing_ about the earnest way she seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve, about how incapable she seemed of guarding her own feelings from him. With her oh-so-slightly parted lips and half lidded eyes, she was the perfect picture of need – but there was a raw honesty there that was foreign to him, and enticingly exotic.

Loki had seen women wanton; he had seen them desirous. He had even seen them desire _him_, but never as more than a tool for their pent up need for release. And yet the look in Aeri's eyes spoke differently. She desired him – whether or not she understood the actual _feeling_ of desire – because of who he _was _and not for what he could do for her.

_Is this love?_ He wondered, fascinated, lowering his head to catch her ear lobe between his teeth. The sharp, startled sound she made thrilled him. _Is this truly the power of infatuation? _

Aeri had already done so much: allowed him to berate her, forgiven his arrogance, even defied her father's wishes at some desperate and childish attempt to impress him. It had only been a few days and she seemed ever-eager to continue, charmed easily by only a few sweet words and carefully placed smiles.

_Love, it seems, makes willing puppets of its victims, _he mused to himself as he straightened to his full height, looking down at her with a smirk.

"You asked earlier about dancing?" The question was innocent enough, asked in perfect nonchalance. Aeri seemed to marvel at him, at his ability to move from sensual touches to polite conversation.

"Yes," she answered, unsure, her voice unsteady. He could tell she was questioning herself, perhaps even his motivations.

"And do you enjoy dancing?"

She could only nod, subconsciously drawing her fingers to her ear where his mouth had been moments before.

"Then," he declared, lifting her from her feet in a sweeping, sudden gesture. "You shall dance with me."

It was not a request; it was a demand. And it pleased him to see how she obliged him, not only without question but with obvious enthusiasm.

Loki had never truly cared for dancing. He had always hated the formal intimacy it demanded, the way it required both partners working together to even hope for something successful. Loki did not enjoy working with others, and he certainly did not enjoy relying on someone else so heavily even in something as frivolously trivial as dancing.

But Aeri was graceful and light on her feet, matching his dexterity and elegant form with ease. She seemed to take great pleasure in it, her body like an extension of his own, the two of them blended together by the warm swell of the music.

They danced in silence, but she seemed wholly absorbed in it, entirely focused on it, her eyes catching his as she twirled, her feet never missing a step of even the most traditional of Asgardian dances. And as he watched her unfurl, relaxed and smiling, he felt something tightening in his chest.

_I will use your love against you, _he thought to himself, his fingers tightening around hers. _I will make you mine._


	10. ACT I: Waking Dreams

**Waking Dreams**

**AN: **So I'm prolly gonna go down to an update-every-two-days-schedule cause life is busy and it's easier for me to get out stuff of quality when I take my time. Also I was kind of neglecting to hang out with my awesome room mates so I could sit around in my pajamas and write – and that's never cool. :(

This chapter contains some mild drama so... hooray! Something vaguely important happens! (Finally!)

Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me so far, and for all the new readers too. :)

EDIT: In an editing snafu, I accidentally replaced the last chapter with this chapter too. That should be fixed shortly. Derp.

* * *

_**Aeri**_

Aeri had lived a happy life, a charmed life. Her years had been easy, without any great burden, and for the most part she had wanted for nothing. For a long time she had known nothing of heartache; her mother's death had been the first and only true sorrow she had ever known, and though her heart still ached from the loss, she was not undone by it. Aeri knew that her mother would not wish her to mourn forever and she knew that her father needed her to be strong. While those first few months after her mother's passing had been both terrible and cruel, she had rebuilt herself steadily, reclaiming her optimism and replacing her tears with laughter.

Her mother's death had left her with a great need for distraction. It was easier to be happy if you thought of only happy things, and so Aeri gave herself often to daydreaming. And when it came to daydreams – that realm where one's greatest and most impossible of desires could be had with no effort or repercussion – Aeri often returned to the same one.

Loki had always been the one impossibility in her life, the one thing she knew she could never have. As close as her father and his father were, their stations were still so radically different and they belonged to entirely different cultures. While she knew there were occasional marriages between the Light Elves and the people of Asgard, it seemed entirely unlikely that her childhood crush would lead anywhere. His status demanded so much more than she could hope to offer.

But of course the most damning fact of all was that he didn't even notice her existence.

In Alfheim, that infatuation she nursed seemed so far away, so childish and silly - especially when her father tried desperately to encourage his daughter to consider her suitors. Arnkell had no idea why Aeri had no interest in them, why she regarded their compliments and their affections with little more than indifference or boredom. Her apathy was a mystery to him when other girls her age swooned at flattery and attention from interested men. Even boys that had been her childhood companions held no interest for her. She kept their company but not their hearts, and while her dismissal of them was soothed by friendship, it was still a dismissal just the same.

It wasn't even that she never considered them, that she was completely untouched by their efforts. Most were handsome; some were endearing. There were a even a few, she knew, that would make quite the husband, doting and honest and brave like her father. But the kinder they were, the more unfair it seemed to give her heart when it was not hers to give.

Aeri had tried to convince herself to let go. She tried to rationalize that her infatuation made absolutely no sense given how few her experiences with Loki had been, that in all likelihood he did not remember her at al. But all the logic in the world did little for the way her heart fluttered when she traced her fingers along the teeth of the comb he had stolen for her.

Though the reality of her desire seemed little more than an exercise in futility, she could not break herself of those fantasies. It was always where her mind wandered – awake, and even while asleep – and her attempts to stop had never been more than half-hearted. Her mother had told her once that it was natural to want what one could never have, and she had clung to the idea, using it as justification for her preoccupations. She savored those dreams too much to surrender them – those sleeping moments where she was so sure it was really _him_ pressing his lips to her face and throat. It was worth waking up alone, wide-eyed and trembling, her whole body aching. It was worth the sorrow of knowing she could never truly have him.

But now they were dancing. It was a stark refutation of all the things Aeri had ever told herself, a denial of her doubt. She was terrified that she was dreaming again – convinced that, at any moment, she would wake from this perfect dream again alone.

And yet it felt so real; she could feel the smooth skin of his hands as they guided her, feel the heat of his body when it pressed to hers, feel the way his breath stirred her hair. Had her dreams ever felt so real before? She couldn't remember, and her inability to do so frightened her.

"Loki?" She hadn't meant to speak his name aloud. She hadn't meant to address him by it. It spoke of familiarity she wasn't sure she was allowed yet, but her befuddled mind left no room for proper social conventions.

Loki blinked, the left corner of his lip quirking upwards. It was obvious he noticed her faltering attention to propriety. "Yes?" He breathed, pulling her to him so that he might hear her over the music and the chattering noise of the hall.

She almost stumbled, caught in a misstep by his sudden unanticipated reaction. But he supported her easily, guiding her back into proper dancing form, moving more slowly so that she could regain her composure and her routine.

They were so close now, and the feel of his body so near to her's brought a flush of flame to her cheeks. She looked up at him to find him watching her, a strange smile across his lean and handsome face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, that smile of his widening. "Are you afraid you might be?"

She weighed honesty against lying, but only for a second. "Yes," she admitted, finding nothing to gain in the lie. "I _am_ afraid. Spectacularly so."

"And does my little bird dream often of dancing?" The way he called her 'his' made her heart skip a bit, but even though her head was foggy, she could tell the question was leading.

She let herself take the bait, looking away from him and out across the crowd. It was easier than looking at him. "We do not often dance."

Loki laughed softly; she could feel it in the way it shook his body rather than hear it over the din of the crowd. "'We'?"

Aeri didn't answer him; she couldn't answer him. There was a lump in her throat, something that suffocated her, that strangled the words from her. It wasn't that she didn't want to tell him – she ached so desperately to – but her fear was overwhelming. A dream would have been better than the chance that he would laugh at her petty affections. A dream would be kinder than him crushing her hopes with one smirking dismissal.

He stopped suddenly, and this time she _did _stumble. It was only because he caught her that she did not fall, his arms tight and locked around her waist. With her cheek pressed to his lower ribs, she felt as if she might melt into a pool at his feet. She imagined it would be an easier fate than facing the consequences of her loose tongue.

Loki lifted a hand from her waist and caught her chin in his fingers, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes were so vivid, almost unnaturally bright, and she was reminded of a green lake iced over in winter.

"Aeri." The way he said her name made her shiver, and her toes curled beneath her long, dancing skirts.

"Yes?" Her voice was a trembling whisper. There was an unbidden heat in the pit of her stomach, red-hot and quivering, and it made her limbs feel unsteady, as if they could give out on her at any moment. It was not an entirely unfamiliar feeling; she felt it often upon waking from dreams he had visited her in, but it was nothing she had experienced beyond the safety of her room. Aeri knew very well what it was, and yet the shame of acknowledging it seemed only to inflame it more.

"Tell me." There was a sultry note to his voice that softened the demand – but there was no denying it was indeed a demand. "Your dreams tempt you with something that reality denies. Tell me what they offer you."

She ached to look away from him; the intensity of his gaze made that heat in her flare, and the tingling of her body was disconcerting.

Suddenly, without warning, he released her, and it took all her effort not to cry out at the loss of his touch. The expression on his face had changed entirely, that unreadable mask returned. He was still smiling – but there was not a single trace of humor to it.

Loki's attention was focused over her head and beyond, and he nodded his head slightly in a mild greeting. "Arnkell."

Aeri froze at the mention of her father's name, not even daring to breath.

"My Lord," she heard her father respond from behind, his voice respectful but strained. "And Aeri."

She turned to face not only her father, but her father's friend Dagur and his son, Jorn. Both Dagur and Jorn were caught in low bows that she suspected were for Loki's benefit, but she recognized them by the cut of their leather armor and by the red-blonde of their hair.

Dagur had been a friend of her father's since long before she had been born, and she knew they had traveled together extensively. Aeri had grown up with Jorn, and while they had not been particularly close, they were certainly friendly. Her father had mentioned on more than one occasion that the young man favored her. It was something Aeri had never really noticed before, but when Jorn rose from his bow it became more readily apparent. As his eyes darted between her and Loki, Aeri could easily read the jealousy in his tight-lipped frown and narrowed eyes.

Dagur's expression was almost unreadable; the man had never been one for banter or overt displays of emotion, but Aeri could detect a hint of disapproval in his gaze. Yet it was Arnkell's countenance that made Aeri's heart shrivel in her chest.

She had expected anger; she had expected condemnation. But the only thing that registered on Arnkell's face was disappointment. There was a sadness to his eyes that brought the threat of tears to her own.

"Father..."

Arnkell shook his head. "The dress looks lovely on you." His voice sounded so tired and defeated that she ached to throw her arms around him and beg him for his forgiveness. Fury would have been manageable, but his despondency tore at her heart.

"But I – "

Her father held up a hand to silence her and shook his head again. "I beg that you excuse me. I meant to introduce Dagur and Jarn to the All-father." With a nod of his head in Loki's direction, Arnkell was gone, swallowed up by the crowd. Dagur mirrored the nod and followed without a word or another glance in Aeri's direction, but Jarn lingered for a moment, his eyes tracing her form.

"Aeri," he said at last, his eyes finding hers, his tone awkward. "You look lovely. And it is a pleasure to see you - it has been far too long."

Aeri could only nod stiffly. Behind her, she could feel Loki tense.

After a long pause, Jarn began again, speaking slowly. "I was wondering if – if maybe later you might consider granting me a moment of your time that we might..." He stopped, as if searching for the right words. "..reacquaint ourselves. Perhaps. If it would not trouble you."

Before she had a chance to respond she felt a hand on her shoulder, long fingers digging into the tender flesh there. It took impressive amount of restraint to keep from wincing.

"It would trouble _me, _as she is indisposed of tonight." Loki's voice was a barely concealed snarl. "Her company is _mine_."

Jarn's eyes rose from Aeri's, fixing Loki with a frown. "For as long as I have known Aeri, she has always been more than capable of speaking for herself. Regardless, I did not mean tonight." The red-head paused a moment before amending, sarcastically, "My _lord_."

"Jarn." Aeri's voice was pleading; Loki's grip on her shoulder was painful and tightening still. "Perhaps another time."

"But of course. We came to see the city, to tour it on holiday with your father. It is our first time." Jarn shrugged, letting his attention fall back to Aeri. Gone was his previous nervousness; she suspected it had something to do with his pride and Loki's sharp tongue. "We shall be here for some time; I sincerely hope you might join us."

With a quick bow he excused himself, disappearing in the general direction that Arnkell and Dagur had taken moments before.

The silence that followed was distinctly uncomfortable and Loki's hold on her shoulder even more so. It was tempting to pull away, but she could feel the resentment in the tension of his body and she did not want to risk angering him more.

"Aeri." His voice floated from above her head, strange and strangled sounding. "Wait here. I need to fetch myself a drink."

She could not help the audible sigh of relief when he released her, subconsciously lifting her hand to massage the sore flesh. It was tender to the touch and aching, and she imagined it would bruise. When she turned to look behind her, Loki was gone. Though a hundred guests swirled around her, dancing and laughing and chattering on, she could not help but feel completely and utterly alone.

Her mind drifted back to her father's expression and her heart cracked just a bit more. She had never expected to _want _a scolding, but she knew it wasn't coming – her father would never address it, leaving it as her unspoken transgression. The silence and the disappointment weighed more heavily on her than a hundred heated arguments could have, and she felt her soaring spirits soured by dejected self-loathing.

Wrapping her arms around herself she pressed her teeth together and sighed again through pursed lips. Between her father and Loki's expired good humor, Aeri suspected her luck for the night had ran out. There was no use trying to apologize to her father; it was an apology she knew he would never hear. But the thought of potentially losing Loki's attention over something so foolhardy made her chest constrict with panic.

Worriedly she began scanning the crowd, trying to pick him out amid the revelers. But she was so short, and it was so hard to see. As the minutes tickled by, she began to worry Loki had abandoned her, and it became harder and harder to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

A touch came at her shoulder – her unwounded shoulder – and she felt herself relax. Turning, she offered a weak smile.

But it wasn't Loki.

"Lady," Fandral began, his tone somewhat apologetic, but guarded. "Would you lend me a moment of your time?"

For a moment Aeri couldn't find any words. She gazed up at the tall blonde man, floundering for something to say, her eyes wide with her surprise at his sudden appearance. "I am indisposed of," she managed finally, borrowing Loki's words instead.

"You must beg my pardon, Lady, but you do not seem _particularly_ indisposed of at this time." Fandral made a point of looking to either side of Aeri as if to illustrate she was alone before fixing her with his gaze again. All note of concession was gone, and she found his tone offensive. "And this is a matter of some _grave_ importance."

His audacity shocked Aeri a bit from her melancholy, and she crossed her arms across her chest, feeling indignation bubble within her. "And what important news could you carry, sir, that you might deliver it to me with a rude and wagging tongue?"

Fandral's arrogant expression blanched a bit, his cheeks coloring. But he ignored her jab, his voice retaining its confidence. "I wish to discuss the _company_ you keep."

Aeri knew immediately that he was talking about Loki. She knew very well the two of them despised each other, and her bias in Loki's favor had colored her opinion of Fandral in enough negativity already. Ten years ago she had disliked him; the feeling was only ripening with time.

"Unfortunately I do not foresee myself keeping _yours_ long enough to discuss it," she answered curtly, pressing her lips together in a frown.

"Lady," Fandral's voice was cold. "I act _solely_ with _your_ benefit in mind, and... I am afraid you do not have much of a choice in the matter."

Without so much as another word, Fandral took hold of Aeri's wrist and began forcibly dragging her towards a small doorway at the side of the hall. Though she tried to dig her heels into the floor, she found she could gain no purchase against the slick and polished marble. He had so much weight on her, and his strength far exceeded her own.

"I demand you let me go this very instant!" She cried shrilly. To her horror the crowd did not seem to take any notice. Either too drunk or too preoccupied, her struggle went unseen by the revelers.

"Altercations are commonplace at feasts, Lady," Fandral explained coolly as he pulled her through the doorway and into a dark, empty hallway. When he shut the door behind them, the sudden silence was deafening, and she felt her heart quicken in her chest as she realized they were entirely alone. "Even _murders_ have gone unnoticed until long after the crowd has dispersed."


	11. ACT I: Pet

**Pet**

**AN: **So that thing I said about an update every two days... yeah, I managed another one finished today because I thought it was a particularly cruel point to leave off on. So today you get... another sort of cliffhanger. Yeah, uh... sorry 'bout that! :v

For all of you people worried about Aeri, well – I'm sorry Loki's a bit of a butt. But I mean, he's a giant butt in the movies! At least he's being... you know, sort of charming. A _sexy _butt! Who doesn't like sexy butts? I love me some creepy!Loki. (ALL FOR YOU JUNI! Well, also for me. Derp. ;) )

* * *

_"Pay no mind what other voices say -_

_They don't care about you  
_

_Like I do.  
_

_Safe from pain and truth and choice,  
_

_And other poison devils -  
_

_See, they don't give a fuck about you  
_

_Like I do.  
_

_Just stay with me,  
_

_Safe and ignorant.  
_

_Go back to sleep."  
_

_- Pet, _A Perfect Circle

* * *

_**Loki  
**_

As a general rule, Loki refrained from drinking at feasts. It wasn't because he didn't appreciate the taste or even the loosened self-restraint, but the thought of losing control in public abhorred him. The way people were prone to stagger around, absently ignorant to their own actions, was something Loki looked on with a fair amount of disdain. He had too little respect already without playing the part of the drunken palace idiot.

But as he gulped down his first mug of mead for the evening, he savored the sweet taste and the way it coated the back of his throat. It was not enough to make him drunk – not enough to even make him tipsy – but it was the indulgence that calmed him. He closed his eyes as he finished the last of it, trying to gather his thoughts into some manageable form.

Anger was normally something he savored, something he fed off of. It was energy and it was justification and it was power, and he nursed at its hot glow eagerly whenever his pride was slighted – an unfortunately often occurrence. But anger only worked in some cases; for others it threatened to bring an early end to his games.

He didn't know enough about Aeri to know how much she would be willing to take, how much patience she would have for his sharp tongue and his fickle moods. A good deal more than the others, that much was evident, but he imagined even her infatuation had its limits. _Love,_ he thought darkly, _is never unconditional. _Everything had boundaries.

But it was so difficult to smother his jealousy, and if there was anything else he was more familiar with than rage, it was jealousy. Jealousy of his brother. Jealousy of his brother's friends. And now jealousy of some little bastard of an elf.

Reasonably Loki understood he had little to be envious about. Aeri had mentioned suitors earlier, but she had expressed a clear disinterest in them and he had no reason not to believe her as she was terribly untalented at lying. Beyond that, the bold boy's invitation had caused her some obvious distress, and that spoke volumes enough about where her affections truly lay.

But Loki's pride was wounded, and that was unforgivable. He imagined that the boy would never have sought Aeri out had she been keeping the company of someone like Thor. He would have never _dared _to intrude.

_What could her father have said to the little bastard that he would presume himself above civility in my presence? _Loki's thoughts were becoming tumultuous again, and he took another mug of ale from a server._ That he would risk the ire of a son of Odin? _Sneering into his drink, the only comfort he found was knowing he could crush the boy like the bug that he was. It was a tempting thought, a soothing thought, and it did more for him than the alcohol.

Finishing the second mug, he placed it beside the first and turned from the table back to the crowd, his eyes scanning the movement for flashes of white and violet. Aeri's fairness lent her an exotic radiance that removed her from the revelers, and he had to admit she was eye-catching in the most flattering of ways. As they danced he had caught more than a few lecherous looks cast in her direction.

But as he strained to pick her face from the churning masses, it began to become painfully obvious she was no longer in the hall. His hands balled into fists – had the little wretch abandoned him?

A hand on his arm diverted his attention from the crowd, and he turned to find himself face to face with Sif.

He did not bother to hide the curling of his lip. "Sif. To what end do you seek to grace me with the pleasure of your company? What terrible crime might I have committed that you would _inflict _yourself upon me?"

"Your arrogance is a crime enough for worse consequences than my company, Loki, but they are punishments I do not have the means to carry out myself." Her countenance mirrored his disdain, but her hand did not leave his arm.

Loki pulled himself away from her and straightened out his long coat, his brows furrowing with his quickly-fading patience. "Then go now and fetch Fandral; the two of you together would be torment enough for the _worst_ of misdeeds."

"Fandral finds himself preoccupied with the attentions of a lady, or I would consider it," Sif responded, her tone frosty.

Loki made a sound halfway between a snort and a derisive laugh. "Then seek him out in ten minutes. I am sure he will have time _enough_, given his admittedly lackluster history with women."

"It seems as if the two of you share in similar misfortunes," Sif made a tsking noise, pointedly looking around, her voice heavy with mock-sympathy. "Where is your lovely Elvish maid? Have you spent your 'ten minutes' so quickly?"

Loki barred his teeth at her, his eyes flashing, and it was satisfying to see Sif take a small step backwards. "Hurry and spill your _poison_, Sif, before I lose my _patience_."

Sif once again reached for Loki's arm, holding tight when he moved to pull from her. "You looked so forlorn, here, alone," she soothed, her voice smooth and surprisingly devoid of mockery. But there was an obvious hardness to her eyes that betrayed her, and he suspected her immediately. "I sought only to help abate that."

With his free arm, Loki grasped Sif's shoulder and pulled her closer, his eyes narrowed to slits. He could feel her tense with obvious unease, and he did not miss the almost imperceptible widening of her eyes. He leered down at her, all flashing teeth. "Come now, do you really think so little of me? Do you truly think you might appease me, that you might _fool _me with only a sweetening of your tone? You lack the talent for lying, lack the discipline to hide your scorn – and even if you did, I would still not lower myself enough to keep the company of _whores_."

Her face blanched at the insult, anger twisting her mouth. It was so easy to undo her. Loki smirked, tightening his grip, savoring the look of pain that flickered in her eyes. "Now let us try honesty since your tongue fails you – what trickery do you play at with this sudden false flattery and concern?"

"Do you question that girl's motives as well?" Sif spat the words out as if they tasted bitter on her tongue. "If you were not always so suspicious, so incapable of trust – "

"Brother! Sif!"

Both Sif and Loki froze, releasing each other to turn and face an obviously drunk Thor. Volstagg stood beside him, just as inebriated, and the two seemed to stand upright only because they were leaning so heavily upon the other. Volstagg looked to be laughing at nothing in particular, and Thor's wide smile indicated that they were both oblivious to Sif and Loki's hostility.

Loki expected Sif to launch immediately into some tirade about Loki's lack of manners, but he found himself surprised when she only nodded her head in greeting.

"Thor. You look as if you are enjoying yourself." Her voice sounded strange, almost unnatural. She was not very good at practiced nonchalance.

Volstagg threw his arms around Sif and pulled her towards them, roaring his enthusiasm at the woman's mortified expression. "Damned Hogun has already retired, and when you an' Fandral ran off ya left the two of us all by our lonesome," he slurred. Thor had filled in the empty spot of Volstagg's laughter with his own, clearly amused by how hard Sif was struggling to hold the larger man up.

Loki froze, his eyes narrowing. _Fandral_. Thor, Volstagg and Sif were accounted for. Hogun never stayed long at feasts; he was not called Hogun the Grim for nothing, and as he was not Odin's son, he was not expected to over-extend his patience for civility's sake. But it was strange not to see Fandral near Thor.

Loki let his gaze slide around the room, the trio of imbeciles too involved with one another to even notice his diverted attention. His mouth hardened into a frown when he found nothing.

Fandral was nowhere to be seen, and Aeri was still missing.

It suddenly occurred to him that Sif might have been sent as a decoy, that Aeri might have been caught by Fandral somehow. And yet as unlikely as it seemed, it was still, quite possibly, the worst situation he could have imagined.

Tightening his hands into fists, he slipped away from Thor and his entourage, disappearing into the crowd. If his assumptions _were _correct, and Sif's guilty behavior was somehow related to both Aeri and Fandral's convenient absence, then it seemed foolish to make a scene. He did not want to alert Sif.

For a few minutes he cased the floor of the hall, making sure that neither of them were hidden, sulking or otherwise, in some corner. When he was fully assured that neither of them were there, he paused, letting his eyes trace the walls of the hall.

If Fandral _was _with Aeri – and he imagined it would not have been willing on Aeri's part – the main doors would have been a foolish way to go. There was still a lot of traffic coming and going, and the guards were ever watchful, their stern expressions betraying their severity. That left only two more exits.

One led down a hall to the kitchens, and the traffic there, while not as busy as the main entryway, was still congested enough. Food was being devoured at an impressive rate, and the servants bustled up and down the corridor with new kegs of mead and platters of meat.

That left only the western most door. It lead to a hallway that took one further into the palace, and the closed door discouraged entry or exit. It did not look as if anyone was using it, and for awhile Loki stared at it, contemplating, running over the possibilities in his mind.

It was probably paranoia, he reasoned, but why had Sif been acting so strangely? And it _was _very unlike Fandral to leave a feast early; he always seemed so eager to coast by on Thor's popularity, and feasts were the perfect place for such selfish indulgences. That left Aeri, and while he did not know her very well he did not imagine she would have abandoned him. Unless, of course, there were extenuating circumstances.

With renewed determination, Loki pushed his way once more through the revelers until he found himself at the door. With surprise he found it slightly ajar, something he wouldn't have noticed from his previous vantage. Slowly he pushed it open and stepped into an unlit and quiet hall.

The hallway itself had not been used in some time; there was a thick layer of dust that he could make out in the poor light, settling itself against the decorative vases and clinging to the pillars that lined the walls. He shut the door slowly behind him, savoring the sudden silence that enveloped him. It was if the crowd in the adjoining hall did not even exist.

He paused for one long moment, unmoving, listening, but the silence that stretched on betrayed nothing. Holding his hand up, he mouthed a single word, and suddenly light appeared at his finger tips, dancing around his hand like an over-large firefly. It was not a particularly bright light – a lantern would have afforded him more – but he did not want for anything stronger.

Leaning down, he studied the long rug that ran the length of the hall before ending at a split. The fabric of the rug was worn with age, its colors obscured and dull behind the blanket of dust. But he found what he was looking for – foot prints. Two _separate _pairs of footprints.

One was clearly made with boots, boots of a similar make to his own. The other prints were not made with shoes at all, but rather from a pair of small, bare feet.

Lifting his hand, and thus the light, he let his eyes trace the steps as they disappeared further down the hall. The booted pair seemed to maintain a regular gait, but the smaller pair seemed to drag in places. The dust was clearly disturbed, suggesting a struggle.

It was the smallness of the prints that confirmed Loki's suspicions; they would have had to belong to an Asgardian child to have been that small – or the dainty feet of a petite Elvish girl – and Asgardians were more prone to favoring shoes than going without.

Aeri had not been wearing any shoes.

Loki immediately launched himself down the hall, dimming the light with a flick of his wrist. The hue of it went from white to red, reducing its visibility considerably. He let his eyes follow the tracks on the carpet until he came to the split in the hall.

One path led north; the other south. There was no longer any carpet to reveal which way he needed to go, and he paused, clenching his fist for a moment to exterminate the light. The silence burned in his ears, taunting him. _What is Fandral playing at?_

Loki was shaking with an almost uncontrollable fury when his ears picked up something to the right. It was so faint, he could have imagined it, so far away he couldn't even guess at what it was. But with nothing else to go on he began his fast paced descent down the northern hall.

Even in his rage, he was careful to step lightly, muffling the sound of his footsteps even more with a bit of whispered magic. The hallway further up had considerably more visibility. Large open windows faced the sky, allowing moonlight to spill in small puddles of light across the floor. As he crossed them, slowing his pursuit, something caught his attention.

Perfume. The smell lingered some by the curtains of the nearby window, and as he paused to place it – and it was _definitely_ Aeri's – he heard the sharp sound of arguing voices.

"You misunderstand, Lady – I do not mean to deny you any happiness, but rather to preserve your integrity – you _must _consider your ill-placed infatuation! You _must _find it in your heart to believe me!"

_I knew it, _Loki seethed, willing himself invisible as he crept through the moonlight. He was approaching another bend in the hall, and from the increasing volume of their voices he deducted they were right around the corner. _That insolent, brazen_ _fool. Fandral, I will _kill _you._

"And why should I believe anything you say?" It was Aeri's voice now, trembling with very clear anger. "It was obvious even to me – even as a child! - that you despised him! I still remember the way you looked at him, your gaze so heavy with _disdain_ – you and that woman _both! _And yet you expect me to take you at your word, that you have suddenly come to me with nothing but sincerity behind your actions? A _sincere_ man is a _kind _man, and you, _sir_, strike me as someone who possesses neither of those qualities!"

Loki heard Fandral laugh, the derision in it far outweighing the humor. "If sincerity and kindness are attributes you favor in your men, then I must suggest you look elsewhere for your pleasures, Lady. _Anywhere_ else. If you find _me _lacking in them, well – Silvertongue will certainly be a rather nasty _surprise_."

As Loki rounded the corner, it was as he suspected: they were only a few paces away from him. Fandral had Aeri up against the wall, his hands on either side of her small frame in an attempt to cage her in. To Aeri's credit, she did not look so much afraid as she did incensed. Even in the poor lighting, Loki could see her eyes flashing with cold fury.

Weighing his options in his mind, Loki considered his choices. Fandral's tongue needed to be silenced; it lashed at Loki's pride, and his fury was steadily growing. The idea that Fandral would actually seek out this girl in an effort to dissuade her passion was a bold and spiteful move that Loki found particularly reprehensible. Fandral's verbal abuse was expected, but it was an immutable force he had grown increasingly numb to over time. But _this_ was simply too much.

Aeri suddenly put her hands against Fandral's chest, and with surprising force, shoved him backwards. Fandral stumbled, and for one glorious moment Loki thought he might fall. But he regained his balance at the last moment, his arms flailing outwards to steady himself.

"I feel as if I am capable of making my own choices, sir, as to who I do and do not spend my time with." She sounded so indignant, so unlike the girl that had blushed at the slightest of his compliments. _To think that this tenacity sparks from a desire to defend me – me!_ Loki felt a grin peak at the corners of his lips. _This _was why he hesitated. _This _was entertainment.

As Fandral looked back up at her, his expression exasperated, she continued to berate him. "If what you speak of had any real validity, why then would you need to _abduct _me to speak of it? No, you took me away by _force _so that he would think I had _abandoned _him! And even now you spew your venom in a petty attempt at spoiling my affections – all to wound him! Is mocking him not enough for you? Does your sadism know no rest?"

"I could not speak to you until he was distracted, Lady, and I beg your forgiveness for the unconventional means of seeking your attention," Fandral hissed between clenched teeth, his hands clenched into fists. It seemed as if he were struggling to keep his voice even. "But you must understand I only take such drastic measures for your safety and well-being. Please realize you are being played. The man is incapable of affection or love, and any flattery he pays you is as false as you fear me to be. Even that _comb _you wear in your hair was bought with deception and trickery!"

Loki had had enough. The amusement had run dry, suffocated by his growing animosity, and he simply wasn't willing to chance Fandral ruining Aeri's opinion of him. "Ah, Fandral. How strange that I might find you here. A_lone._ With _my _companion."

Aeri and Fandral both visibly jumped, their attention diverted from each other to Loki's suddenly materializing form.

It was Aeri who recovered first, the stoniness of her expression melting with apprehension. "My lord, it is not as it seems – "

"I am aware of that, Aeri," Loki flashed a smile that was all teeth, his eyes never leaving Fandral. "I am _very _well aware."

For a long moment Fandral did not move or speak. Loki could see many emotions crossing his face: indignation, frustration, even fear.

"You have worked your claws fairly deep into this one," Fandral managed, finally, straightening his posture. He was trying to piece his composure back together, but Loki could see his unease in the way his frown seemed to falter. "But if you had any sort of heart, Loki, you would spare her the _horrors_ of your companionship."

"So, you choose to continue with your antagonism." Loki threw his head back and laughed. "A dangerous move for you, Fandral. You see, I do not take kindly to your constant incivility, and I tire of your slander. But as far as retaliation goes, I am helpless. I _could _crush you, but where would that leave me? No doubt they would find me the villain yet again. Painted as impatient, found to be impulsive, marked as having a '_dangerous temper'_. No, no, _no_, I could not move against you for your tongue _alone_."

Fandral was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable. From his peripheral vision, Loki could see Aeri's gaze shifting between Fandral and himself, her eyes wide.

"But now it is you who could be found as 'impulsive', Fandral. 'Dangerous temper', _indeed_." Loki smirked again, holding his hand out beside him. Fandral was not one for magic, but Loki could see Aeri knew what was happening. Her eyes were transfixed on Loki's hand, her lips slightly parted in shock. "_Beg_ me not to take my vengeance, Fandral. Put aside that libelous tongue of yours for but _a second_ and I _might_ consider not seeking indemnity for your _abduction_ of _my_ pet_._"

"Thor will – "

"Thor will _what_?" Loki snarled, his fist clenching. His hand erupted into green flames that licked at his skin with no apparent effect, but the light it cast around the room was eerie. "Side with _you? You _were the _fool _who went and _stole _her from me! Sending that _whore _as a _distraction – _was it _your _idea or _hers _to try this _play_?"

"Regardless," Fandral shook his head, steeling his gaze. "I will not lower myself enough to beg. Not to you."

There was a beat of silence, punctuated by Aeri's sharp intake of breath.

Loki only grinned. "I suppose this way you get to keep your pride; begging would have done nothing for _you_, after all."

Fandral looked as if he were going to respond, but he was never given the chance. With a flick of his wrist, Loki sent the fire curling around his fingers spinning, like a ball, at Fandral. It struck him hard, and sent him flying a good many feet down the hall where he landed gracelessly on his back, his head hitting the hard marble floor with a sharp cracking noise.

Aeri muffled a cry from behind her hands, her eyes panicked. "You must not kill him!"

Loki considered her for a moment before Fandral's struggling attempt to right himself regained the sorcerer's attention. "Would you really offer _him _sympathy?" The thought _infuriated _him. He tossed another ball of flame Fandral's way, sneering at the way the unarmed man collapsed again to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

Suddenly Aeri was at his arm, standing on her bare tip toes, her head shaking violently. Some of her hair had come loose; it fell into her eyes, the comb slightly off balance in her white-gold locks. "Vengeance is one thing, my Lord, but you must not risk yourself in the process!"

Loki caught Aeri's gaze, holding it silently for a moment. Then he took her chin in his fingers and grinned. "Ah, so your sympathies are still _mine_." With his spare hand he traced a finger down her cheek, thrilling at the shiver it elicited from her. "_Good_."

"Good? I find the situation anything but, brother."

Aeri was clearly startled, but Loki only dropped his hands to his sides, turning to look behind them.

"Ah, brother. The _peacekeeper._" Loki's grin arrogant, and it widened when he felt Aeri press herself against him. "So _good_ of you to join us. I was beginning to wonder when you might arrive."

* * *

**AN 2: ** I know "Pet" isn't exactly a song that's about what I'm using it to illustrate here - it's actually political and all that jazz, but I find it more fun to appropriate my own meanings from things, and I always really liked this song because of my own perceptions. It just fits really well here. :v


	12. ACT I: Kiss and Control

**Kiss and Control**

**AN:** Sorry for the thousand year wait, but here's the next chapter. I went on a really long vacation to California and ended up engaged and I just didn't have the time to write. It's funny cause I even got a little adorable netbook to take with me, intending to write, but it just didn't turn out that way. Apparently vacations are busy; who would have thought?

I'm prolly gonna be changing the rating to "M" soon, cause stuff's gonna get more heavy I imagine. Along those lines, this chapter's fairly risque at the end, but I feel it's vague enough (or tastefully done enough?) that I'm safe. For now.

Thanks for everyone who's stuck with me and asked me to update; thanks for the tally of how long I was gone. :v Makes me feel loved, ya know?

* * *

**Aeri**

Aeri had known he was dangerous. She had known it all those years prior, seen it in his viciousness, in the way his anger and jealousy manifested so easily into coldly calculated violence. As a child, her veneration of him had mollified the fear she had felt when she had watched him fight. As a child, it was easier to excuse such things, because a greater understanding was not expected of children. Naivete had lent her a forgivable ignorance, and she had never questioned it, not even as she aged.

But she could hear Fandral's moans behind her, echoing oddly off the empty, dusty halls of the palace. She could picture him, in her mind, falling backwards into the shadows. She could still see his fingers stretched out oddly as if he might catch himself on something, anything. His eyes had been so wide and white and frightened, devoid of his earlier arrogance. The sound of his head hitting the hard stone of the floor had twisted her stomach into a thousand knots.

Age lent her wisdom she wasn't sure she wanted. Inwardly, she knew Loki's reaction had been simply _too_ much considering Fandral's relatively minor breach of conduct, and though she resented Fandral for his intrusion, she could not help the pull of sympathy she felt for him. But even knowing it was wrong – that what Loki had done was wrong, that the way she felt was _wrong –_ she could not convince herself. _Loki is amiss in his retribution, _she thought, feverishly, desperately. Hopelessly.

Even as she had been building her resolve, Loki had stolen it away with little more than the touch of his hand. The pressure of his fingers against her jaw, the way she had felt his nails graze her cheek – and she was little more than an awe-struck child once more. His touch had filled her with fire, that fire melting away her objections.

Beside her, against her, Loki burned, bristling with a barely concealed hate. Aeri could feel it, almost as if it were something tangible, and it raised gooseflesh to her exposed skin. Absently, she wrapped her arms around herself, peering up fearfully at the equally furious God of Thunder. That same morality that warred against her infatuation warned her that Thor would not find favor so easily with his brother – and that thought caused panic to rise within her, a cold wave of fear to combat that searing heat.

"What is this, Brother? What have you _done_?" Thor's voice was a whisper, but it trembled with barely controlled rage.

"You know Loki cannot stand to see such revelry in your honor, Thor." It was Sif who answered the question, quickly, materializing from the shadows behind Thor. Without stopping, she moved quickly past Aeri and Loki to find a place at Fandral's side. "And what _better_ way might he express his distaste and petty jealousy than by causing _grievous _harm to one of your closest friends?"

To Aeri's surprise, Loki did not grant Sif even a passing glance; his gaze did not waver from Thor's own, his hands balled into fists at his side. "Silence your whore's lying tongue, Thor, or I will," he hissed through tightly pressed teeth. "This _extravagant_ affair of yours had no hand in the wounding of my pride; that _honor_ rests entirely with _Fandral _and the _whore_."

For a long time, Thor did not respond. The muscles between his eyebrows twitched, his mouth a hard line of disappointment. He appeared to be thinking, to be collecting himself, and it seemed to be a struggle. Thor was not known for his patience; if anything, Aeri knew he was by far the more reckless of Odin's sons. And suddenly Aeri was aware that she pitied him – the situation was hardly an easy one.

"I sincerely hope that you will be able to convince me of your innocence with that silver tongue of yours, Brother," Thor said, finally, slowly, as if the effort to remain calm was an immense struggle. He let his eyes move beyond Aeri and Loki to Fandral, the resolve in his expression wavering. "As it stands, your indiscretion seems particularly damning this time. This goes beyond pranks and mischief, Loki."

"Ah, _yes_," Loki hissed. "'Brother', _indeed_. Even _you _would find me guilty without even knowing the entirety of what has transpired. What good is blood, then? What use is my '_silver tongue_' if _already_ you paint me the liar?"

Thor visibly blanched, and much of the anger dulled in his eyes. "Brother..."

"Do not let him play on your guilt, Thor!" Sif snarled. Aeri glanced behind them to find the older woman holding Fandral to her chest, pressing her hand to a copiously bleeding wound on his forehead. The sight of the blood startled the elf girl; the wound was garish and bright, like a gaping mouth that sneered up at her. _He did this to me, _it seemed to say, japing, taunting. _Your heart trembles and flames for a monster._

"No!" The cry startled her as much as any of them, and it took Aeri a moment to realize it had been her own. Looking back, she found she had claimed both Thor and Loki's attention.

It was as if Thor were seeing her for the first time in a very long time. "Lady Aeri," he murmured, his eyes registering very obvious confusion. "You must allow me to apologize for this, for my brother. Please be assured that this is very... unusual."

Aeri shook her head, and without thinking took a step towards Thor. She was suddenly aware of the loss of Loki's heat, his body no longer flush against hers, and the contrast was chilling. Pressing her fingers into the palms of her hands, she turned her face up to Thor, and shook her head again. "But it is not Loki you should be apologizing for, my Lord!"

"Her affections cloud her judgment, Thor, you must not – "

"Be still, Sif!" Thor's voice thundered through the forgotten hallway, and Aeri could not help but flinch. It did not surprise her that Sif fell to silence; Thor's tone gave no room for argument. With a nod, Thor turned his attention back to Aeri. "Now, what is this, little one?"

"Your mistrust has wounded your brother," Aeri began again, her voice softer, more subdued. "And no doubt he will not defend himself because of it. But while his reaction was both baleful and perhaps even inexcusable, it was still a _reaction_. This was not a fight that Loki sought to begin; that fault lies with Lord Fandral."

Thor raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. His eyes drifted from her and back to Loki. "Is this true? Did Fandral provoke you in some way?"

"When does he _not _provoke me, brother? When do any of them _not_?" Suddenly Aeri felt Loki's hands on her shoulders, pressing hot and searing into the smooth flesh of her bare skin. His lips were at her ear, his breath a whisper that ran invisible fingers up and down her spine. "_Tell _him_, little bird." _

She wanted to close her eyes, to press herself against him. She ached to pull his arms around her, to guide his hands to places she knew she shouldn't think about. He was an inferno that threatened to consume her, and for a moment all she could think about was how desperately she longed to surrender to it.

_Monster_.

The thought jolted her, filling her with guilt. But it wasn't her thoughts – behind them, Fandral was moaning. _"_He's a... _monster..."_

"No, no, _no!_" She cried again, catching Thor's arm with her small hand. "Earlier – earlier, in the hall, Loki left me but for a moment – a moment! And in that moment, Fandral approached me, demanding that I come with him, and when I refused, my Lord, Fandral accosted me! He took me – against my will, my Lord! - into the hallway, and he... and he..."

"Do you... do you think I was _lying, _girl?" It was Fandral's voice again, cold and unsteady, but growing stronger with his returning conviction. "_Look _at me! _Look _at what his damnable _justice _brings!"

Aeri made to turn, as if to look, but Loki's fingers tightened on her shoulders. "No." It was Loki, his words like frost-fire, and the pounding of the blood in her veins seemed to slow to a crawl. "Do _not_ look at him."

He pulled her backwards, suddenly, so that the backs of her shoulders pressed against the smooth, hard line of his stomach. His heat reclaimed her, devouring her doubts. "I found Fandral with her," Loki began, so cool and controlled, lulling in his certainty. "Here, far from the hall He had taken her, brother, with one very clear intention – an intention he seems intent on pursuing even now."

Thor fixed Aeri with an intense look. "And what intention was that, Lady Aeri?"

"He told me," Aeri started, trying to will the quavering from her voice. "That your brother was both a monster and a fiend in no uncertain terms, my Lord. It was such that I do not feel comfortable divulging or even revisiting the particular details of his slander, they were so heinous and excessive." She paused, then closed her eyes. "His intention seemed to be convincing me to never again keep your brother's company." And though she doubted Loki – doubted his intentions and his motivations – the very thought of never seeing him again filled her with an unspeakable kind of dread, some kind of waking nightmare.

Thor's expression was one of complete surprise, and he gaped openly at Aeri before slowly looking back to Loki. "And you found them in the middle of this... tirade?"

"Mockery, evidently, is not enough, Brother," Loki laughed, but there was absolutely no humor to the sound. "Not only do your insolent companions defame me at every possible opportunity, they also seek to deny me my _own_ companionship."

The contrition that Thor was feeling was written all over his face, and Aeri found herself feeling impossibly sorry for him. There was such a great sense of sadness to his eyes, such a defeated look of disappointment that Aeri felt her own eyes prickling with empathetic tears.

"Brother... Loki. I am truly sorry." Thor placed a large hand on Loki's shoulder, and Aeri felt suddenly very small between the two much taller men. "I was so happy for you tonight, and to have that almost taken from you... that you reacted as you did was an impressive show of restraint. I fear that, were I in _your _position, I might have been even _more_ volatile."

"But _Thor_ – " "Thor, you _cannot _– !"

"_SILENCE!" _Thor's voice rumbled like thunder throughout the hallway, and Fandral and Sif obeyed without another word. Thor's expression was suddenly stormy, that earlier rage revisited. "I will _deal _with the two of you in a moment!"

Sighing, Thor shook his head and pressed his fingers into closed his eyes. "Loki – forgive me. For mistrusting you. For their insolence." The Son of Odin dropped his hand suddenly, taking Aeri's in his own. Gently he placed his lips against her fingers. "And forgive me, Lady Aeri; do not take Fandral's words to heart, I beg of you. My brother is a good man."

Aeri flushed, shaking her head. "I – it is fine, my Lord. I had no intention of it."

"You will deal with them?" Loki was nothing if not efficient. She felt his hands tighten again against her shoulders, this time almost painfully.

Thor was grim. "Yes. Please, brother – take the Lady somewhere else. She has seen enough of our foolishness for five lifetimes."

Without another word, Loki took Aeri's hand and began to lead her further down the hallway. After a moment, Aeri managed the courage to look back, and the shadow of Thor's imposing figure as he approached the prone Fandral and the kneeling Sif left her feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

* * *

For a long while, they walked in silence, her hand secured tightly in his long fingers. It became quickly apparent that Loki had no intention of returning to the feasting hall, but Aeri could only guess where he meant to take her. One hallway bled into another, each as distinctly unrecognizable as the last. She let her eyes wander, observing anything and everything – anything but him. Looking at him reminded her that she was alone with him, and that thought was enough to still her breath in her throat.

Loki kept a quick step, but it was one she didn't find trouble keeping. She surmised, with a flush of pleasure, that he had slowed his gait for her benefit. _Do not be childish, _the thought came to her as quickly as the first, unbidden and unwanted. _Politeness is not the same thing as affection._

Aeri lifted her head, studying him as he strode before her, purposeful, confident. Occasionally his head would turn to consider an approaching hallway, and she would catch a glimpse of his face in profile, all thin-lipped severity and bright sea-green eyes. But even as she gaped at him, Loki did not seem to notice her at all. He seemed wholly lost in thought.

She ached to talk to him. She ached for his attention, but the thought of addressing him paralyzed her, numbing her tongue in her mouth. He radiated intensity and seemed completely focused elsewhere, and the thought of his anger – for any reason, let _alone_ directed at her – gave Aeri more than enough cause for restraint.

Abruptly he stopped. Aeri was barely able to avoid colliding with him, breaking his grip on her hand as she half-leapt, half-danced sideways.

She heard his laughter, low and quiet, before she regained enough of her balance and composure to look at him. He seemed to be only partially there; the shadows of the hallway painted him in blacks and blues and grays, but she could see the white of his teeth in the poor light from the moon, catch the reflection of it in his eyes.

"Where are we?" The question came before she knew what she was saying, and she was suddenly aware of how quickly her heart was pounding in her chest.

Loki indicated a door behind him with a casual motion of his hand. "Your quarters, little bird."

The answer confounded her. Her lodgings shared a hallway with her father's own, and then even with many more guest quarters. This hallway had but one door – the door that Loki stood before. It was certainly not a hallway she was familiar with. "That is not the door to my quarters," she said, slowly, uncertainly, as if afraid to disagree.

He held her gaze for a long beat of silence, then slowly the corners of his lips curled upward into a strange smile. "Ah, that is not the door you use, of course." He spoke as if this thought had only just occurred to him, his tone contemplative in nature. But his expression was knowing. Wrapping his fingers around the ornate handle, he turned it slowly and pulled it outwards. The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing a black room beyond.

"After you, Aeri." Loki gave a slight bow and indicated that she go before him with a nod of his head, his grin still wide and unnerving.

"But it is so... dark." The excuse sounded weak even to her own ears, but it was all she could manage. That apprehension was fast becoming more like panic as the seconds ticked on.

"You will see in a moment."

Looking at him, at him looking at her, Aeri was aware that she shouldn't trust him. Trust was something to be earned, and he had done nothing to earn it. And then there was Fandral – had there been any truth to his words?

But his eyes held her transfixed, and though a part of her urged her to turn, urged her to flee back into the shadows of the long halls alone, a greater part urged her onwards still. _Years of longing, years of dreaming, _she thought, _and you would squander it all in one moment of childish fear?_

"Aeri." Her name was a whisper on his lips, a command. The very sound of it almost made her knees buckle. "_Come._"

Aeri went without a word, moving past him, her arm just brushing his. Instinctively she put her hands up as she made her way through the door. But just past the frame, her hands connected with something... malleable. Soft. "What – what is _this_?"

She felt his hand at the small of her back, urging her forward, pushing her past – pushing her _into –_ whatever it was that filled the doorway.

"Trust me," she heard him say from somewhere above her. And when her feet stopped, unwilling to continue, his arms surrounded her, lifting her. The sensation of her feet leaving the floor made her light-headed; the heat of his chest against her back made her toes curl.

They moved together through the dark thing, Loki's purposeful stride pushing whatever it was aside, and suddenly there was light – everywhere. It was blinding, and the contrast of the dark hallway behind them and the vivid brightness of the room was almost painful. She closed her eyes against the candles, against the blue-white glow of the moon that streamed in from the open balcony.

_Her _balcony.

"This _is _my room," she murmured, peeking through long silver lashes so as not to overwhelm her senses with the blazing light.

"Of course." Loki's tone was perfect nonchalance as he lowered her slowly to the ground. Her weightless dizziness was gone the second her feet touched the cold marble floors.

Immediately she turned, looking behind him for a door – but there was no door to be found. In its place was only a tapestry, done up in bright reds and golds, the pattern intricate and magnificent. Aeri could not tell if the discovery fascinated or disturbed her.

Pushing past him, she picked up the corner of the tapestry and pulled it aside. And there was the door – heavy dark wood, the golden handle shimmering in the flickering candlelight.

"There was another door," she whispered wonderingly, releasing the tapestry. It fell silently to the floor, the excess fabric pooling over her toes. Aeri had barely noticed the tapestry in all the nights she had spent in the room, let alone guessed what lay behind it. "I was... unaware."

"Of course," Loki said again, but there was a smirk to his words this time. She turned to find him considering her with that very smirk on his face, his eyes burning, mischievous.

"You... you knew!"

"A brilliant deduction, to be sure." His grin was all teeth.

Aeri balled her hands into fists and made a face at him. "That is _not _what I meant, and you _know _it!" _Has he been in this room before? _Her thoughts were racing. _Has he been here – with me – before?_

That smile was gone in an instant, his expression suddenly very grave. "Are you suggesting that _I_ would make use of this door without your knowledge?" Pressing his hand to his chest, he looked almost affronted, his tone wounded. "Are you suggesting that _I_ would enter, here, _unbidden_, without your consent?"

Had she offended him? _Of course he would never do that, _she scolded herself, frantically. _What reason would he have to do so? _And she was disturbed by how disappointed she was at the realization.

She shook her head almost violently, raising her hands in a gesture of concession. "I – of course I – "

But he was smiling again – leering – and she had forgotten what she was going to say. There was a look in his eyes that she could describe as nothing else but 'predatory'.

He closed the space between them in three leisurely steps, and then his hands were on her bare shoulders, his cheek against hers, his lips near her ear. "But you _dream _of that, do you not, little bird?" It was the breath of a whisper, warm and damp against her throat, and she felt something tighten inside of her. Suddenly, she could not stand. Suddenly she was falling.

Loki caught her easily, sweeping her again off her feet – and then she found herself sprawled across her bed, tangling in the silk of the sheets. He loomed over for her for but a moment, a shadow cut figure against the sharp lighted backdrop of the room. She could not see that smile any longer; his face was a blur of shadows, and her eyes were having a difficult time focusing But she could feel it, almost as if it were a tangible thing, almost as if it were filling the room.

And then he was on top of her, his hands pinning her wrists beside her ears.

It was a superfluous gesture; Loki's weight alone was enough to render Aeri incapable of escape. Still, his fingers tightened, and she could not keep the whimper from her lips.

As if seeking the origin of the noise he lowered his head to her throat, letting his teeth graze the tender white flesh there. The touch elicited a powerful trembling from the Elvish girl, and she writhed beneath him, heat burning in her cheeks and her breasts and her belly. The feeling was familiar – she had known it well enough after dreams, after little illicit fantasies in the safety and seclusion of her quarters. But this was another animal entirely. It had been a secret, a dirty shameful secret, but it had been _her _secret.

_This is not how it is supposed to be, _and the words were sanity when everything seemed to be unreal, when delirium threatened to overwhelm her. But it wasn't enough. It was too quiet a voice, and the roaring sound of her pounding heart smothered it. _No, no, no. _But she didn't want to listen.

"And what _if _I had stolen into your quarters in the still quiet of night?" His lips were at her ear again, and she could feel them against her skin, moving when he spoke. _"_What would I have done?"

Aeri could only mutely shake her head, and she heard his laughter, felt it in the way his body moved against hers. "Come now, surrender your sins to me, _little bird_. I want to know of the things you hide away behind your pretty eyes and your innocent smile. Tell me what lurks in your _dreams_."

He was fire, he was flame, and he was swallowing her whole. The words had burned away in her throat, the confessions stilling with a breath she couldn't quite take.

"Do I simply watch, admiring, exploring with my eyes?" He chuckled, and nipped at her ear. "There is such innocence in sleep, in the flutter of feather-light lashes against soft white cheeks, in the slight parting of petal-pink lips – and would I _only _watch, _never_ touching?" He released one of her wrists, and with his freed hand he pressed his fingers against the sharp contour of her collar bone, trailing them slowly downward. "The gentle rise and fall of your breasts beneath the delicate fabric of your chemise..."

"You would _not,_" she finally managed, her voice strangled, and he pulled his hand away with a flourish before reclaiming her wrist.

And then Loki was looking at her, his face inches from her own. The light danced across his features, highlighting those sharp cheek bones, playing across the white shine of his teeth.

"You are right, little bird. I would not risk breaking your fragile, trembling heart. You would certainly expire from impatience, mm? Yes, I would do more than _watch._"

He was so arrogant, so _confident_ in her desire, and briefly she considered denying him the satisfaction. But Loki's gaze was so penetrating, and she knew he would know it a lie. She could only shake her head again, her voice small. "Each night I fall asleep alone; and each morn I wake the same."

"Ah, my poor little dove." His sympathy was a cruel farce. "And do you wake desperate and yearning?"

She closed her eyes against his ever widening smile. It filled her with shame and it filled her with heat, and she feared for her self-control. It faltered all the more the longer she held his gaze.

"Do not fret, little bird; there is a first time for everything. Now, open your eyes."

Reluctantly, she did as he asked, and found his face closer to her, still.

"Have you ever kissed a man, Aeri?"

Her mouth felt as if it had been filled with sand. When she went to shake her head, he frowned at her, disapproving, and she stilled instantly.

"No. _Answer_ me."

It was a struggle; her tongue felt numb in her mouth. "I have not."

"Then," he whispered, that smirk resurfacing. "Kiss _me_."

It was a demand that sent her mind reeling. She was immediately thankful she wasn't standing, absolutely certain that the command would have ruined her. For one long moment all she could do was stare up at him, eyes wide, barely daring to believe. How many times had she imagined this? How many times had she laid in bed – this bed, even – and imagined him pressed against her, his lips mere inches from hers?

His aggression frightened her, and yet that fear was like an intoxicant. Her blood felt like gunpowder in her veins, struck alight by his heat. She could feel it throbbing in her belly, hot between her legs. She pressed her thighs together, subconsciously, her humiliation working against her, stoking that fiery need even more.

But for all the imagery that danced through her mind, she could not bring herself to embrace it. Whether from guilt – knowing just how inappropriate this really was – or reproach at her own painful inexperience, she knew she could not will herself to do as he asked. Instead, she lifted her head and pressed her lips to the corner of his own, brushing a soft kiss there before letting her head hit the sheets in a gesture of surrender.

Aeri expected some kind of reaction – anger, maybe, or frustration, but he merely observed her silently, his eyes never releasing hers. Then his shoulders began to shake with his laughter, and he shook his head as if to clear his humor.

"Such a chaste and innocent kiss, Aeri," Loki scolded mockingly, releasing both of her wrists. "Your kisses are lies; your body betrays you. Look at how you squirm – look at how you writhe so eagerly beneath me! Conceal yourself, then, with propriety; wear your masks of modesty. I will enjoy this game. It will be so much more fun _this _way, to peel them away, piece by piece, bit by bit."

She went to shake her head, but his hand caught her chin, holding her head still in a vice like grip.

"No," he breathed, leering. "Now let me reward you for your devotion. Now let me indulge _myself_."

And his mouth was against hers.

Aeri had not lied; she had never kissed a man, nor had she been kissed before. But she had seen enough of it, or so she had assumed. There had been kisses her parents shared, kisses her friends had stolen from secret suitors, kisses between lovers in the streets at market. Some had been sweet, some had been restrained, some had been passionate. There were kisses fueled by love and kisses driven by infatuation.

But this was something else.

Loki's mouth worked against hers almost ravenously, roughly, his tongue pressed to her lips, insistent and unrelenting and hot, as if seeking entrance – as if demanding it. And when she surrendered, his tongue was in her mouth, against her teeth, against _her _tongue, exploring her, tasting her – _claiming_ her.

If there were kisses marked by love or infatuation, _this_ was about possession. He was making a point, and that point was _control_.

Infatuation and love – hadn't that always been what she wanted? In her daydreams, he had always kissed her gently, with devotion, with endearment.

_But this was something else_.

With free hands, she moved as if to push him away – but when her hands found his head, she could only tangle her fingers into the dark brown locks of his hair, could only arch up and against him, eager, wanting _more_. She was quivering; she was aflame. This _something else_ was so much more exhilarating, so much more profound. So wrong.

_No, _whispered that tiny voice. Was it pride? Was it reason? _Do not give in_. _Do not surrender._

Against her mouth she felt him smile, triumphant – saw the recognition of what her gesture meant in his eyes, ruthless and pleased.

_I gave in years ago. _It was justification – no; it was truth. _There was never _anything_ to surrender._


	13. ACT I: Confessions

**Confessions**

**AN: **This chapter ended up really long, so I apologize for that. Loki also kind of softens up a little towards the end, but please don't be fooled – this story isn't taking a sudden turn down happy-go-lucky lane or anything. Just building for some important things in the future. :v

Thanks for reading and for sticking around with my sporadic updates and what not! Hope any Americans had a good 4th, and hope any non-Americans had a good day!

* * *

_**Loki**_

Rising late was an anomaly for Loki – accustomed, as he was, to waking even before the first light of dawn – but it was well into mid-morning by the time he opened his eyes. It was difficult to wake up; the sun streaming in through his balcony was a disorienting and unfamiliar sight. It took him a few minutes to gather his bearings, and then a few more to manage the will to sit up.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he cursed himself for his careless lie-in. Dawdling about in bed was more Thor's territory. Whether it was sleeping off some grand adventure or attempting to stave off some impressive hang over – or, as Loki suspected, general laziness – Thor had never been one to appreciate mornings. Loki, however, savored them as time he could spend alone, pursuing whatever endeavors he so desired with little interruption from anyone else.

But the night had been a busy one, he reasoned. Certainly more involving than the average feast where he retired much earlier than the other revelers, usually sullen and most definitely irritated. It wasn't an excuse, but it was enough to calm the frustration at losing time he could have had for himself.

Stretching, he rose from bed, bathed, and dressed himself. The actions themselves were quick and mechanical, and he performed them with his concentration occupied entirely elsewhere.

Mostly on Aeri.

He had to admit he found her a nice distraction. She was a lovely sort of respite from the oppressive negativity that, more often than not, occupied his thoughts. Jealousy was not an easy burden; envy was exhausting. But the fervor of her affection did wonders for his ego. Loki had never been one to weather celebrations for Thor well, but grudgingly he had to admit his mood would have been far darker without her presence.

It certainly helped that she was pretty – captivating, even, if he felt like being generous. Loki had seen the way that Fandral had eyed her, the way the she had caught the attention of others while they were dancing. And while those reactions had stirred in him a selfish kind of resentment, they had also engaged his pride. She had been dancing with him – her smiles had been _for _him. Just him. And it was, in no small way, thrilling.

But it had been her spirited argument with Fandral that had won him over in the end. Fandral could be charming when he needed to, persuasive when he was motivated enough. While he lacked Loki's silver tongue, Loki knew he had the ability to cause considerable damage, and the thought had been oddly disturbing. Though only recently reacquainted, the idea of losing Aeri's attentions so soon was a larger concern than Loki cared to admit, even to himself. Still, she had remained steadfast and unshaken by Fandral's contention – and Loki had been pleased.

Maybe too pleased.

By the time he had Aeri in her chambers, the internal battle his self-control had been waging with a desire to really _claim _her had become a losing one. It was only by sheer force of will – and maybe a small fear of the repercussions – that he was able to restrain himself from taking more than a few heated kisses from her. And it had been so difficult. If he had wanted her when he saw the way the filmy fabric of her gown clung to her, that feeling had become all the more intense after her verbal sparring match with Fandral.

Even thinking about it – remembering it – he wanted her now. The thought of her trembling against him, all wide eyes and parted lips he'd kissed swollen and sore was enough to give him pause as he pulled his boots on. It was enough to make him close his eyes, enough to make him will back the full-bodied shudder that threatened at the base of his spine.

No, it wouldn't do to lose himself to desirous thoughts so early in the day, not when there were things to prepare for, not when he was sure her actual presence would be tempting enough. Willpower was something that benefited from a well-placed foundation, and indulging in morning fantasies was not the best for foundation laying.

Standing from his chair, he let his eyes sweep his quarters in a cursory glance. While certainly grand and opulent in nature, with its vivid green fabrics and hand-carved furniture, it was devoid of any real personal effects. It had amused him to see the difference between Aeri's quarters and his own. In a mere few days she had managed to infuse her temporary space with more personality than he had his own in an entire lifetime.

With a small smirk he abandoned his resolve to avoid darker thoughts, and decided, suddenly, that he would have her first in _her _room. It seemed the most fitting, the most _fun –_ that she would have that act imprinted on her while surrounded by the things she held most dear.

_And then_, Loki thought gleefully as he passed through his door and into the hallway, _I could have her in _mine_. And what a lovely little nightmare _that _would be._

* * *

The stairs down to the lake garden were long and steep, but he took them quickly, two or three at a time. There was no railing and the stark drop from the side of them down the face of the cliff made even some immortals nervous, but Loki paid neither the heights or the fall any mind. He had traveled these stairs many times before, both as a child and as an adult, and they no longer held any fear for him.

He'd been surprised to hear from the guard in the hall that his parents had decided to take breakfast in the garden. It wasn't something they did often, considering how much of an inconvenience it was to move all the food from the palace to the lake pavilion. But the pavilion was lavish, a sight to see: it jutted out over the lake, a white marble slab with ivory pillars that climbed up and up and up, covered by a vaulted roof sheathed in ivy and underscored with flowers. From three directions one could admire the blue expanse of the lake with its white sugared sands and the lush forests that lay beyond its shores; from the final rose the cliff and those winding, precipitous stairs.

The lake itself was large, at least several miles in length _and _width, and in the middle of it stood a small island, it's beaches ending in a wreath of trees. The island was inaccessible unless one had a boat or some other means to approach, as the water towards the center of the lake was impossibly deep, and Loki had sought out its lonely solitude on more than one occasion.

Loki had always loved dining at the lake pavilion as a child, and it was a love that he had not abandoned even in his more cynical adulthood. There was something refreshing to it, something absolutely enthralling about sitting at the long tables gazing out into the untouched beauty of Asgard's natural splendor, about admiring the little island with its tall wall of trees.

When his boots hit the sand Loki became suddenly aware of the sound of the waves lapping gently at the beach, and he closed his eyes for a moment, pausing to savor the way the wind touched and kissed at his cheeks.

As children he and Thor had ran the gamut of the lake's beach for days at a time, camping out in secret caves when rainstorms threatened or when they were too lazy to return to the palace. They had even slept in the pavilion itself, sprawled out on the long tables while they counted the dancing, shimmering stars that appeared mirrored in the lake, talking about everything and nothing until the bright morning light chased the stars from the sky.

They were happy memories, and Loki sighed, bending down to pick up a handful of sand that he let slip through his fingers, slowly.

"Brother!"

Loki looked up to find Thor jogging towards him, his brother's bare feet leaving stark impressions in the sand. He was dressed lightly, casually, a contrast to Loki's more formal attire.

For once Loki did not frown at his brother's approach or greeting, nodding when Thor drew closer.

"You are up before me this morn," Loki observed wryly, and Thor grinned wide in response.

"Mother was surprised," Thor laughed. "But last night she gave mention that we would break fast at the lake this morning – "

"And you could not sleep through the excitement," Loki finished for him, shaking his head as if to chide his brother. But there was a hint of a smile, unbidden, at the very corners of his lips.

Thor ran his hand through his shaggy blonde hair sheepishly. "The lake is special to me, Brother," he admitted, letting his gaze drift skyward. "Do you remember that feeling when we were young, when Mother would promise us an early visit? It was always the best in the morning – "

"And in the evening."

Thor laughed. "Yes, and the evening, when the stars would come out and we would spend five _eternities, _it seemed, trying to see a shooting star reflected in the lake..."

"When they were near impossible to spy even in the sky itself."

Thor sighed, but it was more wistful than anything. His eyes seemed far away, almost sad. "In all the time we tried, we had luck only enough for three, was it?"

Loki shook his head. "Four," he corrected, softly. "There were four of them."

"Did you ever chance a wish on any of them?" Thor's question was abrupt, and his eyes sought out Loki's own.

A silence stretched between them for a moment, highlighted by the soft whisper of the waves as they nibbled at the shore. "Yes," Loki admitted, finally, breaking Thor's gaze.

"And did any of them – did any of them come true?"

"No." Loki did not hesitate with his answer this time, and that smile was gone with his fleeting good humor. "They did not."

Turning, Loki began to make his way to the pavilion. He heard Thor following, blessedly silent; if he tried, he could perfectly picture the pained, guilt-ridden look that no doubt had darkened his brother's features – and the amusement that thought afforded him was far more familiar than the quickly-passing sort offered by indulging in memories.

They crossed the long stretch of sand without another word to each other, Loki leading as they climbed the stairs into the cool shadows of the pavilion. It had been a long time since Loki had been to the pavilion, a long time since he had even descended the stairs to the lake itself. The ivy had continued to grow, winding down the long pillars like long, green streamers that fluttered in the wind.

The stairs opened up onto the wide platform where the long white table stretched. Odin sat at the head, his back to the lake, resplendent as always in light gold armor that seemed to shine even in the shadows cast by the pavilion. He seemed entirely ignorant of his sons' approach, engaged as he was in animated conversation with Aeri's father and her father's friend who both sat to his right. To Odin's left was Frigga, a book open in her lap, her eyes transfixed on the lake, her mouth soft, her expression dream-like. But the other seats at the long table were conspicuously empty, and Loki stopped in surprise.

"Your little entourage appears to be absent," Loki observed, barely daring to hope it was true.

Thor's voice was full of contrition. "I asked them to excuse themselves this morning, Brother, for your benefit."

"Then you _did_ see to them last night?"

"I did. What they did was inexcusable."

"Well," Loki said, almost unsure of how to respond. "It _was_."

It was a poor response, and he knew it. It was the first time he'd felt thankful for anything Thor had done in a long time, but his pride got in the way of proper gratitude.

Mercifully, Odin chose that moment to notice the two of them. "Thor! Loki! Come, sit with us, break fast with us – the food will be arriving shortly!"

The two of them moved wordlessly to the table, and Loki allowed Thor to surge forward, not wanting to bother with fighting him for the chair beside their mother. Loki did not sit, but chose to stand instead behind the chair next to Thor's, letting his eyes settle on Arnkell who had watched Loki's approach with a strange, unreadable expression.

"My Lord," Arnkell offered him a slight bow of his head, linking his hands together over the table. His tone was polite, but there was no warmth to it. "I trust your night with my daughter was satisfactory?"

The memory of Aeri in her revealing gown stole into Loki's thoughts, and he smiled, careful to appear nonchalant. From the corner of his eyes, he could catch his parents' observing the exchange with heightened interest. "I find her company more than satisfactory, Arnkell. Rather, it is a _pleasure _to keep."

Arnkell's fixed a smile on his face, the effort of it clearly a struggle. "I am... glad for that, my Lord."

Thor was clearly oblivious to the awkwardness of the exchange. "Where is the lass?" He glanced around as if she might be hiding behind one of the chairs. "Was she not here earlier?"

Frigga waved her hand back and forth, smiling. "The two of them decided to venture some up the beach to see if they could find somewhere that would afford them a better view of the island. Aeri seems particularly taken with it."

"The _two _of them?" Loki set his teeth behind a sudden smile as false as the one on Arnkell's face.

As if on cue the sound of distant laughter bubbled up over the sound of the waves, and Loki turned towards its origin, eyes narrowing.

And it _was_ Aeri, racing up the beach towards the pavilion with the Elvish boy he had met the night prior – and immediately hated – in quick pursuit. She was calling something to him, but the wind stole the words from her lips, muffling what she was saying. Whatever it was seemed only to encourage the boy, his widening grin obvious even from the pavilion's distant vantage – and he seemed to be gaining on her.

Suddenly Aeri veered hard to the right and towards the water, and the abrupt change in direction seemed to momentarily startle the boy, but his pause was brief before he adjusted his own direction, following her towards the lake with renewed vigor.

"If she seeks to make an escape into the lake itself, she is in for a rather rude surprise," Odin observed, clearly amused. The comment made it painfully aware to Loki that he was not the only one riveted by this sudden appearance.

Yet as Aeri's feet beat a quick approach towards the water, she did not show any signs of slowing, let alone stopping. It was Jarn who slowed, Jarn who stopped. "Aeri!" Loki heard the boy call her name, and he allowed himself a sneer, knowing full well that no one would notice.

Beside Thor, Frigga covered her face with her hands. "Oh, but the lake is so cold...!"

But when Aeri's heels hit the water, she did not sink, and she did not slow. Laughter erupted from her again, sudden and bright and pleased, and she kept her pace – running not into the water, but _over _it.

"That is _unfair!_" Jarn cried out after her, but he was still smiling as he walked towards the lake's edge, tentatively testing it with his own boot. The water surged around and over it, bridging no path.

Frigga made a noise of surprise, but Odin and Thor both joined Aeri in her laughter. "Magic!" Thor sounded impressed. "The sort of tricks that Loki used to favor when we were children!"

Loki wasn't sure if he was more annoyed by Thor suggesting that he preferred darker tricks now or by the look of disappointment on Jarn's face as he watched Aeri all but dance across surface the lake.

With a good-natured shrug, Jarn abandoned his pursuit, making his way towards the pavilion instead. But Loki hated how the boy's gaze continuously strayed out towards Aeri, hated how he paused to consider the way she seemed to sway and waltz across the bright, shimmering waters.

Whether spurred by impulse or agitation – or some tumultuous mixture of the two – Loki broke away from his family and their guests, leaping gracefully from the platform and onto the beach. Striding towards the Elfish youth, he heard his brother call something after him, but the words were lost, either to the wind or the pounding of the blood in Loki's ears.

It took a moment for Jarn to notice Loki's advance, distracted as he was by Aeri, and it was not until Loki was nearly upon him that he became finally aware. When his brown eyes met Loki's cold blue-green, the reaction was instant, and the boy's conviviality hardened to something else entirely.

Jarn stopped immediately, tension settling itself about him like a palpable veil, but Loki did not stop. Crossing the distance separating them with something between a determined stride and a swagger, he stopped only when there was but a few short feet dividing them.

"My... Lord." Jarn gazed up at Loki, looking as if the words were sour on his tongue.

Loki smirked down at the Elf. While he was nowhere near Aeri's stature, Loki still had considerable height on the boy, and it was obvious that Jarn was regretting this as much as Loki was celebrating it.

Loki decided it was best to be direct – he did not have the patience to mince words with the boy, nor did he feel decorum required any sort of politeness. Jarn was nothing to him. "Do you fancy the lady?" He asked, making a gesture with his head in the direction of Aeri's disappearing form.

Jarn shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking somewhat taken aback by Loki's forwardness. "She has been my friend since we were children," he answered stiffly – carefully.

"How lovely," Loki remarked dryly, eyes narrowing. "But that does not answer my question in the slightest."

"You speak as if I owe you an answer," came Jarn's antagonistic reply, his brows furrowing defensively.

"Do you think you do not, boy?" Loki laughed softly, his eyes glinting wickedly. "You stand _here_, on the shores of _my _lake, in _my _kingdom, and tell me you do not owe me anything? You are not in a position to refuse me anything – and you owe me _everything, _including an answer. Now out with it, and make haste, before I _take_ my answer from you._"_

Jarn looked as if he couldn't find any words at first, gaping openly at Loki, stunned by his audacity. But then he set his jaw and crossed his arms across his chest, absurdly defiant.

"Your father lies just beyond us – do you really think he would simply abide by your forcing me to answer?"

"There are ways to extract information without violence, boy," Loki's tone was oddly pleasant, but the threat was heavy in his words. "And some might venture an argument that _those_ methods are far, far worse."

Jarn shook his head in disgust, holding up his hands in acquiescence. "Have it your way – I _fancy _her! But do not demand such things as if you have some claim on her!"

"My poor boy," Loki gave an exaggeratedly petulant sigh, but his lips were upturned in a mocking grin. "Shield yourself with your delusions all you want, but I am afraid to inform you that you are wrong yet again."

"You lie." Jarn was openly hostile, but Loki ignored it, still smiling. "Her attending the feast with you means nothing."

"Does it?" It was all Loki had to say, because he could see the doubt in Jarn's eyes, see the way the boy's confidence faltered.

"You do not know her as I do," Jarn snarled, clearly reaching for something that might wound Loki. "You have not spent years with her as I have. You do not know her mind, how her heart works, the things that make her smile. You have never sat with her beneath a canopy of trees in the rain, never skipped rocks with her across a still lake, never heard her sing!"

"And you," Loki laughed, turning from the boy and towards the lake. "Have never pressed your lips to hers. You have never _tasted _her." With a glance over his shoulder at the boy, Loki took one slow and deliberate step out onto the lake, and the water did not swallow his foot, instead holding steady beneath him.

Jarn's jaw went slack.

"But I will tell you a secret," Loki held his arms out in a gesture of mocking generosity. "She tastes as sweet as you imagine she does."

Without waiting for Jarn to respond, Loki turned his attention to the island and, with a quick stride began to make his way across the lake.

* * *

The island was about a mile long and half a mile wide, and the trees that ringed the outside of it grew together tightly, making a quick glimpse of the island impossible from the lake. So close were they that there were but a few places where an adult could comfortably squeeze themselves through – but they were all places Loki knew well.

The knowledge was unnecessary, however, as Aeri's foot prints in the sand were an easy enough beacon to follow. He traced them around the island until he found himself unable to see the pavilion on the lake's farther shore – and there, between a small gap in the trees, her foot prints disappeared into the grassy underbrush.

It was a smaller passage than he would have preferred. Infuriatingly, she had passed more obvious entrances before choosing this one, and it was more suited to her petite size than his taller stature. But with a wave of his fingers the trees seemed to sway, bending outward and away, widening and opening up for him. They creaked and groaned, whining in an almost sentient fashion, the noise low and aching. When they quieted he paused, listening for something more, but there was nothing besides the sounds of the lake and the wind in the trees. Evidently she had not noticed, or was not close enough to.

Loki was careful as he made his way into the copse, studying the ground for signs of breakage in the brush. It was harder to spot her path where there was no sand to record her travel, but he could spy hints of it now and again in the bits of crushed grass that were only just beginning to spring back up. With amusement he noticed that Aeri had gone out of her way to avoid trampling the flowers that grew with abandon across the roots and the tiny hills, for even the smallest stood untouched, swaying gently in the soft breeze.

As he paused to consider a particularly pretty violet blossom, his ears picked up on something. Soft at first, but then it grew, and he recognized it: a song.

There was no question as to it being anyone other than Aeri as the chances of running into anyone else on the island were low indeed, but Loki was still surprised. Jarn had mentioned her singing, as if it were something worth hearing, something worth bragging about, but he had not taken it with any real consideration.

But it made sense, suddenly, why he had. As Loki drew closer to the source of the song, he found himself growing steadily more impressed despite himself. Aeri, he determined, could certainly sing. The song itself was unrecognizable, the words clearly in an older form of her native Elvish tongue, but her voice was clear and bright, lilting and lovely. And then there was the melody – the sad, poignant sound of it struck something deep inside of him, some part of him he had almost forgotten about. And though the words were nothing he could understand, he understood them just the same. They spoke of pain and loss, of memories revisited and the tears those memories brought.

Her voice was easier to follow than the slight discrepancies in the vegetation, and in no time at all he found her in a small clearing, sitting atop a wide, smooth rock. In her lap, nestled in the damp and near-translucent fabric of her skirts, were flowers of every color which she seemed to be braiding together quickly with tiny, nimble fingers. With her head bent and her concentration focused wholly on her task, she did not notice him approach.

For a moment he could do nothing but watch her. It was like seeing her for the first time, as a different person, as a girl completely separate from the child who had given him a ribbon so long ago. The way her hair, long and lose down her back, dusted gently at the small of her back fascinated him. The way her lithe body folded over itself, petite and graceful, charmed him. But it was the sound of her voice – the way her lips moved to form the works, the way the she never seemed to miss a note – that really captivated him.

It was surreal, really, because while he had a clear idea of what infatuation was – was it not what she felt for him? – it was never something he had ever experienced himself . Loki knew desire well enough; sensual longing was a familiar feeling, and he was never one to refrain from indulging in it with whoever he happened to be feeling it for. But there was nothing lasting about it, nothing that demanded he return after he had sated whatever primal need had struck the longing in the first place.

But this wasn't quite the same thing, and Loki wasn't entirely sure he liked it.

There was no vulnerability with lust. There was no chance of pain, or of disappointment beyond a less-than-spectacular rutting. There was no chance of soured memories or places that made him sad when he revisited them alone, wishing things could still be the way they were years before.

Affection was dangerous; infatuation was much the same.

"Aeri." He said her name aloud, cutting through her song, and she startled like a fawn, looking up at him with wide, violet eyes. The song stilled, quieting, in her throat.

"Oh." And she flushed, and the red on her cheeks struck all the right chords with him. He savored it, vainly, and then even more for reasons beyond simple vanity. "How long have you – were you – "

"Would you like me to lie to spare you your embarrassment, or would you like the honest answer that inevitably flusters you further?" He grinned, and her blush darkened a shade.

"Well," she said, her tone awkward, her gaze drifting back down to her lap where here fingers had stilled on the flowers. "I am not sure there _is_ any way to spare me from this disconcertion, my Lord, if _I _am to be honest."

"Honesty it is." He gave a small bow before stepping into the tiny clearing, making a point to avoid any errant flowers – entirely for _her _benefit – as he made his way towards her. "I find myself uncustomarily impressed with your singing. I am, unfortunately, not one for indulging in such frivolous things – let alone someone who is impressed by them. But your singing voice is lovely, and it is what gave me pause for so long."

Still looking at her lap, she began to move her fingers again, slowly picking up where she had left off with the flowers. Her hair hid much of her face, and he moved closer to see her better, until he stood before the rock she sat upon. The rock itself was tall, and her head was nearly level with his own.

"That is very kind of you to say," she managed finally; quietly.

"Are you angry with me?"

Her eyes flickered up to him then, and she seemed taken aback by his sudden closeness. "For what would I be angry about?"

"I was bold," he shrugged, playing at indifference. "Last night."

"Bold does not even begin to describe it," she said softly, but her eyes bright, caught and held by his own. "But I was not _angry_. It was not anger at all."

Loki set his hands on the rock on either side of her feet. Her bare toes peeked up at him from beneath the hem of her skirts, wet still as they were from the spray of the lake's waves. Despite himself he found her toes oddly – unspeakably – cute. "And what was it, if not anger?"

Her toes curled, and it took all of his restraint not to touch them. "You seemed so sure of what it was last night, my Lord."

Loki smiled at her, knowingly. "And was I correct?"

Suddenly she lifted her hand, raising her fingers to trace the lines of his face – the sharp curve of his cheekbone, the length of his nose, the thin line of his lips. She touched him gingerly, as if afraid he might pull away from her, as if he might break.

And part of him wanted to pull away, but not because he disliked her touch. It was more that he felt he liked it _too _much. Instead he lifted his own hand and held her fingers still against his cheek, savoring the warm heat of her hand.

"You know the answer to that." She was evasive in her answer, but she did not drop her gaze.

"But I want to hear you _say _it," he persisted, his fingers tightening around hers.

"But you _know _it," she pointed out again, frowning as she looked away from him. "You know it, and that should be enough. I am an open book to you, and you read me easily. But you – you are a mystery to me, and I fear for myself. Not for any of Fandral's warnings, no – but there is still fear. We are on uneven footing, you and I, and that becomes ever more apparent with each passing day. You are so sure of yourself, so confident, but as the days pass I find that I feel even less in control. It is... unfair."

"Life is rarely fair, little bird," Loki soothed, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand in slow circular motions. He spoke calmly, but inwardly his chest tightened at her admission. It was almost as satisfying as the way she had pressed herself into him the night before. "But it will come easier for you, in time. And even knowing it..."

"Even knowing it?"

"Even being confident, _knowing _how you feel – " He released her hand then, claiming her chin instead so that he could turn her face up to his. "It does not mean I do not ache to hear you say it."

Aeri inhaled deeply through slightly parted lips and met his gaze through silver lashes. A shiver ran its course through her, and he knew it was not from a chill.

"Do you really?" Her voice was pleading. "Do you really ache for it?"

"I do." And it wasn't a lie, even if he wished it was. He wanted the acknowledgment. He wanted the confession. He yearned for it, starved for it – recognition, adulation. And not just that, even, not anymore. He wanted it, but he wanted it especially from _her_.

Aeri expelled that earlier breath slowly through pursed lips, then closed her eyes. "I have nursed feelings for you since I was a little girl. They were childish – perhaps they still are – but you were so different from what I knew, from what I was used to... so closed off. I watched you with the others, so quick-witted and sharp tongued, and I ached for you. You seemed so..." She trailed off, as if unsure.

"So?" He prompted her, intense.

She opened her eyes and they were sad. "Lonely. I noticed it, even as a child. Your brother had his companions, but _you_ were alone. And I thought you were handsome, even then, the sharp cut of your profile, the dark shock of your hair. It is why I went to you with that ribbon; I wanted you to notice me.

"I know you did not. I know, knew it then, that I was something you could use to fulfill your own ends, but I did not hold it against you. I screamed for you at that tournament until my throat was raw. I did not want the comb – I wanted you to win, for your _own_ sake.

"But what happened then, it did not matter. I went home, and I expected those feelings to fade. But they never did." Her voice quavered. "_They never did. _The years stretched on, and I waited, waited to meet someone that made me forget my foolish childhood fancy. And yet nothing did. No attempts at flattery, no gifts of flowers would do, and I yearned, and I ached, hiding my affections from my parents for fear of their disapproval. And why would they approve? It was little more than an irrational notion. You and I were worlds apart – I was nothing, and you were the son of the Allfather... I doubted, sincerely, that you even remembered me, surrounded, as you were, by people so much more important and memorable than myself.

"Even so, I voraciously pursued any rumors that came to Alfheim about you, and every time I thrilled to hear that you had still not begun to court. Thrilled, and hated myself. Hated myself for my petty selfishness, hated myself for wanting what I knew would never come to be.

"But then father suggested visiting Asgard in an attempt to distract us both from our grief at losing my mother... and I could not help that giddy feeling of hope. Hope that you would notice me... hope that years of thwarted longing would become something _real_. Maybe I could find you – maybe, maybe we could talk. And when he told me where we would be staying..."

Her fingers found his hand on her chin and she pulled it free. But rather than dropping it, she lowered it into her lap and held it between both of her hands, her fingers sliding over his knuckles. "The way I felt for you, through all those years of childish fancy – all of it did nothing to prepare me, was _nothing_ compared to how I have felt these past few days. My heart has felt as if it might burst, and some times I do not know if I am going to cry or laugh or..." She shook her head, as if trying to regain her train of thought, but then looked up at him suddenly. Her lashes were wet with tears.

"You ask me to confess, and I do, because I fear that you will disappear if I do not. I would give you anything you ask for, if only because the thought of losing your attention now frightens me more than you could know. But does confessing not make me more vulnerable? I open myself up for rejection with confession." Her fingers tightened on his. "It is such a contradictory thing, and I find myself, somehow, even _more_ afraid now."

She lapsed into silence, and for almost a minute Loki could do nothing but stare at her. He _had _asked for a confession, but he had never expected her to be so forthcoming, so earnest, so raw. And he knew, without a doubt, that she was _honest. _And with her honest she did indeed risk so much more than he had ever anticipated.

For someone who favored lies to protect himself, both emotionally and otherwise, it was an absurd and alien concept. He had known of her feelings of course, but not of the depth of them – and certainly not the extent to which they would leave her vulnerable to him.

It was a powerful feeling, knowing that it was _he _who had elicited these emotions in her, and the knowledge of it coursed through him like liquid fire, smoldering and throbbing with each beat of his heart. Was this _real _desire? And if she felt so strongly, was it not safe, then, to indulge? Her passion left her quivering; her passion surrendered her to him, awarding him dominion entirely. It was entirely his play now, and his thoughts were racing.

Infatuation was dangerous, he tried to remind himself, but she was right. He had been lonely. He had ached for friends, desperate for affection that was not afforded him only from familial relations. And here she was, offering it to him eagerly, so hopeful and so desperate.

He freed his hand from hers and she seemed surprised, but only for a moment. Placing both hands on either side of her face, he leaned forward and claimed her lips with his own.

Claiming _her _as his own.

And she melted into him completely, rising from the rock to meet him in his embrace, coiling her slender arms about his shoulders. He could feel the small swell of her breasts against his chest, feel her fingers clutching at the leather of his long coat.

"You are _mine_," he whispered savagely against her mouth, his long fingers pressing firmly against her skull behind her ears. "And so long as you are honest – so long as you are loyal – you will fear nothing. Give yourself to me, and I _will _keep you – and so long as you do not betray me..."

"I would never." And she was crying, pressing her lips fervently to his, over and over and over. "I would _never._"


	14. ACT I: Dangerous

**Dangerous**

**AN: **So stupid eff eff dot net wasn't sending me alerts yesterday for anything – story updates, reviews, whatever. It made me really cranky. :(

So now, as I was preparing to post this chapter, I get a thing in my email saying I've posted Chapter 13 of OTWANL story. Way to go, . _I did that yesterday! _If anyone else was having issues with alerts (and assuming when I post this, the alert goes out _on time_), it's gonna look like I posted two chapters, one right after another. Rest assured this is not the case. Eff eff dot net is just trolling you.

I'm nearing the end of Act I, though, and Act II will be upon us shortly. Act II occurs during _Thor's_ (the movie!) time line – and, as you might have guessed, Act III occurs sort of before and then during _The Avengers_. Where Act I is mostly just setting the stage and building character fluff, a lot of stuff happens in the following acts. I'm both really excited and somewhat intimidated by it.

Also, at the suggestion of a few people, I'd decided to keep the story's rating "T", but because I enjoy writing awful make-out sessions (and the dreadful but sexy things that follow) so much I'll be posting uncensored chapters on my website for anyone who enjoys that sort of thing. I mention this only because I have some things that will need to be censored coming up. :v

Anyways, this is a long author's note so I'm gonna wrap it up. Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys, it's part of what keeps me writing!

* * *

**_Aeri_ **

As Aeri ran the brush through her long hair, she could not keep the smile from her face. The girl that gazed back at her from the vanity's mirror positively glowed, all bright eyes and white cheeks warmed pink with delight. Setting the brush down, she pulled her hair back and away from her face, studying herself, turning her head in different directions to get a look at every possible angle. She had never thought herself particularly pretty before. It was never something she had ever really stopped to consider. Elves as a whole were fair creatures; it was something that simply _was_, and she had taken it for granted. In Asgard, however, there was so much variation, and now she couldn't help but worry. _But he told you that you were lovely, _she chided herself. _And actions speak more powerfully than words..._

Releasing her hair, she lifted slender fingers to her cheeks, running them slowly over her eye lids, across her eyebrows, stippling them across her chin. Slowly, slowly, she traced her her hands across the places his lips had been, her cheeks brightening at the memory. If she tried she could still recall just how it had felt: some light, tickling like the touch of the wind, hardly there; others hard and insistent, demanding, with little bits of teeth and tongue.

Shuddering she wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath. Tonight was to be the second night of feasting, and she had a few hours to spare before the festivities began anew. She had expected her nerves to go easier on her, secure as she was in Loki's intentions, but for some reason her heart would not slow. If anything the recollection of his promises left her feeling far more excited – and far more unsure – than she had the previous night.

They had not discussed much else on the island besides her feelings before Loki had taken her by the hand and lead her back across the lake. Breakfast had been cold upon their return and conversation was stilted and awkward. Dagur and Jarn had already excused themselves, and her father had seemed particularly on edge despite how much the Allfather tried to engage him. But Aeri had managed to have a pleasant enough conversation with Frigga and Thor, ever aware of how Loki's gaze lingered on her. It was like a physical force, something she could feel, intense and unwavering.

"_You are mine."_

But Loki had never clarified what that meant, and her head swam. Was he courting her? Was she now spoken for? Was it something she should tell her father? Would he tell _his _parents?

He was so reserved, so closed off. Aeri had always felt as if she had a knack for reading people. Empathy and patience meant she usually managed to get along with almost anyone, but Loki was a mystery to her. He would say one thing and mean another while his facial expressions alluded to something else entirely. And though she suspected that his urgently whispered claims on the island had been a rare moment for him, she still was not sure what they meant or where the two of them stood.

A knock at her door startled her from her ruminations, and she stood, heart pounding. Was it him?

"It is unlocked," she called, smoothing down her skirts.

The door clicked as it opened, swinging open on silent hinges. But it was not Loki who stood in the doorway – it was her father.

"May I come in?" Arnkell's voice was soft.

"You may," she allowed uneasily, suddenly terrified that the scolding she was due was upon her. She had already made a point of hiding the dress; the last thing she wanted was for her father to take it away.

Her father made his way into the room, careful to shut the door behind him quietly. Then, turning to her with his hands clasped behind his back, he appraised her with unreadable blue-violet eyes.

"Father... about the dress..."

Arnkell sighed suddenly, and shook his head at her. "There is no point in revisiting what you have done. There is nothing that can be said that will take it back. I suppose it is my fault for ever buying you the dress in the first place."

For some reason her father shouldering the blame filled her with more guilt than anything else he might have said. "But it was not your fault, Father – "

"No, it was. I should not have trusted you with it; I should have known the temptation would have been too great," Arnkell said, and his eyes were sad. "But there is nothing more to say on the matter. I only hope you know that I am disappointed in you, Aeri."

"I will not wear it again, Father," she promised, her voice pleading. It was a promise she meant to keep.

"The dress was, unfortunately, not what I came to discuss with you."

Arnkell was a serious man. He had always been gentle and fair, but it was his wife who had maintained all the humor and gay spontaneity in their relationship. His smiles were rare, treasured for their sparseness, but he was never one for jokes. Aeri knew he loved deeply, but it was something he expressed in ways beyond words or overt displays of affection.

Yet in all the years she had known her father, Aeri could not remember her father looking as distinctly grave as he did now, and a sudden thought chilled her: this was about something else far more dire than a dress.

When Aeri could not will herself to ask her father what he meant, he set himself on the edge of her bed and ran his fingers through his cropped blonde hair. Looking intently at her, he addressed her again. "I have noticed that you have taken an interest in Odin's son."

Aeri's blood froze in her veins.

"What is more, I have noticed that he seems to have taken an... interest in you, as well." Arnkell spoke as if the words were difficult for him to speak, as if they were sticky, getting caught in his mouth. "Last night was a surprise to me, but I suppose it would make sense that one of Odin's own might seek your company as a nod to the relationship I have with the Allfather. We traveled a great deal together in our youth, and Odin is as close to me as Dagur is – as _any _of my friends are."

"Father..."

Arnkell continued as if he had not heard her. "But this morning lead me to believe that Odinson's interest in you lies beyond my solidarity with his father." He looked at her in earnest. "What, then, is the nature of your relationship?"

Aeri's mind was blank, erased by a steadily mounting apprehension. This was not just a conversation about her relationship with Loki. It took a moment before Aeri could force her mouth to work, and she was suddenly aware of how dry her throat was. "I fancy him, Father."

Arnkell's expression did not change much, but she noticed an almost imperceptible narrowing to his eyes. "And does he return your affections?"

"I..." Aeri struggled. What should she say? Did he return her affections? _"I will keep you." _Was that a confession? She closed her eyes. "Yes, he does."

She heard her father sigh again, and when she opened her eyes he was rubbing his right temple, his own eyes closed in a grimace.

"Aeri," he said her name carefully, as if hesitating, and she tensed, clutching at the fabric of the skirt that bunched over her thighs. "I am not sure I can condone your pursuit of this relationship."

"Father!" Her voice was a shrill cry, and it startled them both. "You cannot be serious!"

But when he looked back up at her, she had never seen him more so. "I am afraid I am, Aeri. There are things you do not – cannot – know about him. Things that I am, unfortunately, not in a position to disclose."

It was unlike her father to be vague. He had never once treated her like a child, never once given her unreasonable demands. Where her mother had argued with emotion and 'because I said so's, her father had always employed logic, carefully explaining his reasoning for a decision or a rule in great detail. She had always appreciated the gesture, and it had done wonders for building the respect she had for her father.

That he would try to pull such a card now – now, when she was so close to adulthood – was insulting. And that he would try to stop her from seeing Loki now – now that he had noticed her, now that he had taken _interest_...

"'_Not in a position to...'_ – Father! You cannot say _that_! You cannot tell me that I am not allowed to see him without some kind of an explanation!"

Her father blanched, guilt darkening his features. "Aeri... you know that, were I able, I would explain. But this is something else, and you must find it in your heart to trust me. I was made to promise – to _swear –_ and I cannot, Aeri. I simply cannot tell you any more. Odin's son is _not what he seems._"

"He has a _name_," she spat the words angrily, rising to her feet with her hands balled into fists at her sides. "And he is the _son_ of your _closest friend!"_

Her father visibly flinched, and she felt some of her resolve falter. But she had yearned for Loki's attention for years, dreamed of it, wanting it more than anything. "You _cannot_... father..." Her voice was trembling with the threat of tears. "You cannot do this to me, Father, you cannot, you _cannot_..."

"Aeri, there are so many who are bewitched by you – Jarn is hardly the only one. But you turn them away and find fascination in him – in _him, _of all people!" Her father sounded tired, and he pressed his face into his hands. "You cannot know what he is, Aeri – but he is _dangerous_."

"He is the _son _of the _Allfather!" _She cried, moving forward to take her father's hands in her own. "How can you say such things about him – about the _son _of your dearest _friend_?"

When Arnkell looked up at Aeri, he looked wearied and tired. "At the end of the week, on the night of the last feast, Odin will publicly announce that he plans to make Thor the heir to his throne. As one of Allfather's closest friends, I am obligated to stay until that announcement is made." Suddenly he would not look at her. "But we will be taking our leave the following morning, Aeri."

"Father...!" Her heart had stopped beating.

"Aeri, do _not_. _Please_. Our place is in Alfheim."

"But what if he... what if he was willing to give me a place _here, _with _him?"_ Her voice was rising steadily, nearing hysteria.

"Aeri, _no_. _Your _place is in Alfheim." His tone gave no room for argument.

"Father, you are so _cruel!" _She released his hands and took a few unsteady steps backwards._ "_You would not make such heartless decisions were it _Thor_ who pursued me!"

"No," Arnkell agreed, quietly. "I would not. But Loki is not what he seems, Aeri. I beg you to trust me."

"No," Aeri shook her head and balled her fists again. That resolve was back, indignant, furious. Ten long years, and he was taking it away – stealing all of her dreams. "No – no – _no! _I _hate _you! How could you be so _cruel_?"

"I am sorry, Aeri." Arnkell looked defeated, and sounded genuinely apologetic. "But I will _not_ be moved in my decision."

Aeri did not answer – did not even look at him. Without a word, she threw open the door to her room and was gone.

* * *

She was thankful that Loki's quarters were far removed from the bustle of the palace. As she had torn a zig-zagging path through the swarming mass of revelers that filled the halls, it had been difficult to hold back the tears that prickled at her eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. It was only a combination of willpower and the risk of embarrassment that held them back – but now, alone as she was in the hall before his door, she could no longer maintain the energy to contain them.

Raising her hand to knock, she became abruptly aware of how childish she was acting. Dropping her hand in surrender, she pressed her wet face into her fingers, her shoulders racked with violent, silent sobs. What could she hope to accomplish in telling him? What could he do? Would he even _want _to do anything?

She let herself fall against the wall opposite of his door, sliding down to the floor in a crumpled mess of limbs. If she was going to approach Loki about the situation, she needed to be calm – she doubted he would find her panic either moving or attractive. But it was so hard, and even thinking about him brought on another wave of hiccuped sobs. Burying her head in her arms, she closed her eyes, trying, in vain, to steady her ragged breathing.

"Are you so smitten that you cannot be without me for a few hours, little bird?" Came a wry voice from high above her.

It took everything in her to force herself to look up, and when she did, she saw Loki smiling down at her – and saw that smile vanish instantly.

"What is – are you _crying?_" He sounded incredulous.

"Perhaps a little," she whispered, rubbing the back of her hand against her cheek in a failed attempt to wipe the tears away. "I am sorry, my Lord – I was trying to calm myself down..."

He scoffed as he knelt down, catching her chin with his long fingers. "I think I can handle a few tears, Aeri." With his thumb, he managed to catch one, rubbing it into her cheek. The gesture was sympathetic, and so unlike him. It should have been a comfort, but it only made her heart ache more. "Now tell me, why are you crying?"

"I..." But her voice died in her throat. His eyes burned into hers, so bright, so brilliant, and suddenly the whole world seemed to fade. Even in the dim light of the hall, his eyes seemed electric, and she was suddenly sure he could see into her very soul.

And then he pressed his lips to her slightly parted ones, lightly, gently. He pulled at her chin, tilting her head back so that he might have an easier time of tasting her, snaking his tongue along the curve of her lips with agonizing slowness.

And her breathing became even more erratic.

"You look so lovely, the way the tears streak your face as they fall, the way your lips tremble while you attempt to catch your breath," he murmured as he pulled away, a strange sort of smile on his face. His fingers found the wet path of her tears, tracing the lines down her cheek with a feather-light touch. "The red of it is so stark against the white of your skin, almost like a wound. It makes you look so _fragile_."

Suddenly she was in the air, in his arms, and the ground was falling away from her. The change was disorienting, and she gasped, throwing her arms around his neck to steady herself. "Be still, little bird," he soothed, turning back towards his quarters. The door to them hung wide opening and beckoning, and he carried her through.

With wide, still-wet eyes, she let her gaze steal across his quarters. She had been eager to see them the night before, but his height had made it impossible to see past him when he had greeted her at the door. The room was vast, separated into many sections either by book cases or long hanging curtains. A few of the curtains had been drawn back, revealing a wide pool that she imagined could be used as a bath, and his bed, which stood alone in the corner under a mountain of pillows and heavy green blankets.

There were books everywhere, on everything, organized or stuffed into things, strewn over tables and stacked on top of chairs. But while the fabrics and the carefully carved marble furniture spoke of finery and opulence, there was nothing personal to any of it. The tapestries were solid colors, so unlike the ones in the halls that depicted grand scenes from Asgardian history; there were no artfully sculpted statues or favored knick-knacks or anything he might be _attached _to.

The windows were darkened by heavy curtains, and the only light came from a crackling fire in a pit at the center of the room. The flames sent shadows skittering across the walls, dancing across the bookshelves.

"It is so dark in here," she observed quietly, clinging closer to him.

"When night falls, I pull back the curtains."

She was calmer now, and feeling more bold. "To let _more_ darkness in?"

He smirked. "Or to let some out."

Loki carried her to the bed and set her gently atop it, and the blankets surrounded her, smothering her pleasantly. As he pulled a chair up to the bed, she made a point of sitting up straighter, pulling one of the blankets into her lap. It was smooth and it seemed to melt across her fingers, draping delicately down her arm as she pulled it up against her cheek.

"This one is so soft," she sighed, and buried her face in it. It smelled like him, and the sudden realization made her throat tighten again.

"_But we will be taking our leave..." _Her father's voice was an echo in her head, and she tightened her fingers on the blanket, taking a deep gulp of air in an attempt to conceal a sob.

"Aeri."

She looked up at him, and he was a blurry shape through her tears. "Yes?"

His fingers were at her cheek, touching at her tears. "Tell me." It was a command. "_Tell me."_


	15. ACT I: Intimate Games

**Intimate Games**

**AN: **This chapter is pretty short (as the last one), but it's also the first chapter that Aeri and Loki have had entirely to themselves, so I guess that's something. The next chapter is when things get kind of knky, but I'll be glossing over that (and putting the un-glossed over part on a website somewhere else.)

Also, anonymous reviewer, your comment about Arnkell made me laugh. :v You also (SPOILERS!) pretty much hit the nail on the head.

* * *

**_Loki_**

Loki could not recall the last time he had permitted anyone inside his quarters. It was not that he had anything to hide, but more that he preferred his solitude, and his room was the only place he had entirely to himself. It was a sanctuary, a place where he could go to brood or sulk or plot – a place where he could lock himself away from the world for days at a time to think, or simply escape.

It was strange to have someone else keeping company there with him – especially so with Aeri. With her white hair and snow-fair skin, she seemed somehow even more alive than usual, almost radiant against the dark atmosphere of the room.

She looked so small, perched as she was atop his bed. The massive size of it dwarfed her, and the way she seemed to cling to herself only served to make her appear more diminutive. All traces of her spirited nature were gone, and she gazed back at him with wide, wounded eyes still wet with tears.

There was something disturbingly alluring about her in this state; her fragility was arousing, and he ached to touch her, to taste her, to _violate _her. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and slouched back in his chair, mindful to keep his expression sympathetic.

"Aeri," he said, again. "Tell me. _Please_." The last word was an after-thought, an addendum.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and he felt his pulse quicken a few beats, his blood throbbing in his veins.

"My father – my father came to ask about the nature of our..." She faltered, her expression helpless, and he couldn't help his small smile.

"_Relationship_?" He offered for her, enunciating the word.

She nodded her head slowly and tucked a stray white-blonde curl behind her delicately pointed ear. "I told him that I had... feelings, for you, my Lord. And he asked, then, whether or not you returned them."

Loki raised his eyebrows, suddenly certain he was not going to like where this conversation was going. "And how did you respond to that inquiry?"

Aeri blinked once, twice, then closed her eyes, her silver lashes fluttering against the soft curve of her warming cheeks. "My lord, I – I did not know how to respond, for I was not certain." She opened her eyes and her expression was pleading. "I beg that you do not take offense at my boldness, but I told him that you... _did _return them."

Loki felt his smile widen despite himself. Her face registered an emotion somewhere between apprehension and terror, and her eyes had fixed themselves on the blanket she was twisting between her unsteady fingers.

"Aeri." She looked up at him, her teeth working at her lower lip. "What you told him is not some misplaced hope. It is the truth."

For one brief moment the light came back into her eyes, and her lips curled at the corners, hinting at a smile. But then – without warning – she collapsed into herself with a muffled cry, her shoulders shaking anew.

It was not at all how he had expected her to react, and he might have been angry if not for the sudden feeling of unease that seemed to be worming its way through his stomach.

"What did your father say?" He stood from his seat and crossed the distance to her, towering over her. "Answer me, Aeri."

"He said he did not approve_,_" she sobbed, and the words were spilling from her mouth, strangled and hysterical. "He said – he said that he could not allow me to pursue you, that you were _dangerous_, that he would take me back to Alfheim when the week was through, and oh, he cannot, he _cannot_, you cannot _let _him..."

The world seemed very still suddenly, and there was a ringing in Loki's ears. Before him Aeri rocked back and forth, arms tangled around her slender legs, face buried in her knees. She seemed almost delirious in her sorrow, and he could hear her babbling, weeping – she was saying something, struggling to speak, but the words were little more than the noise of something broken.

Loki did not share in Aeri's sadness.

He was _furious_.

For a long moment he could only stare down at her in silence, watching as she fell to pieces before him. It would have been gratifying to watch before – knowing that a loss of his company was the cause of her overwhelming grief – but now it only served to fuel his rage, to feed that roiling, seething hate that he was all too familiar with.

Arnkell was a fool – a damned _fool_ – and Loki _hated _him. Dangerous? Arnkell had no _idea_. And at that exact moment, Loki wanted nothing more than to show Arnkell just how _dangerous_ he could be, his mind racing with dark images of even darker retribution.

But Arnkell was not with him – it was Aeri who demanded his attention now. It was a struggle to push back that creeping antipathy; it filled him up with angry heat, threatening to overwhelm him

"Aeri." He tried her name as he slipped his fingers through the veil of her hair, touching at her cheek. It was hot from her outburst, wet with her tears, and he felt another spike of desire surge through him. Sharpened by his mounting enmity, heightened by his growing aggression, he fought against it. It would do no good to loose himself upon her now, when it would be an impossibility to be gentle – when he had no desire to be anything but _violent_.

Bending down to her, he gathered her hair in his hands and pulled it away from her face. With his free hand he caught her chin and forced her to look at him. Her cheeks looked as if they had been slapped, stung as they were by the onslaught of her tears, and her mouth was open and trembling as she gasped for air. "Please, do not – please..." She begged him, humiliated, and tried to pull her face free of his hands.

"Aeri, listen – you _must _calm yourself. You are going to make yourself ill." It was as much for her benefit as his own. The sight of her broken and sobbing was not helping his desire to press her into his blankets and fiercely claim what her father obviously intended to keep from him.

But when she did not still, he sat beside her on the bed and pulled her into him. She obliged him all too willingly, and her arms encircled his waist, her cheek pressed to the hard, tight line of his stomach. Idly he let his fingers slip into her hair, reveling in the delicious sort of torment her closeness afforded him.

"Little bird, little bird," he soothed, his voice a whisper as he stroked her hair. It amused him to no end that she seemed completely unaware of the darker things that lurked within his mind. "My poor, broken little bird. I will not let him take you away from me."

She held tighter to his waist, her fingers pulling at the heavy fabric of his coat. "But what can you do?" Her voice was muffled and heavy with anguish, but her tears, at least, appeared to be slowing. "My father – I begged him, I pleaded, but he was unmoved and held fast to his decision. I fear that you could do no better – my father's opinion of you is not..."

Loki tightened his fingers reflexively at the comment, and he felt her flinch against him, heard her almost squeak. The sound quelled his anger, replacing it with something else – perhaps something even more sinister. "Do you doubt me?" He breathed the question, his fingers pressing into the back of her skull, pressing her face further against his stomach.

"I do not doubt you, my Lord," she answered, quietly, and she adjusted her head so that he could feel the movement of her lips against his stomach when she spoke. "But I do not doubt my father's resolve, either."

Untangling his fingers from her hair, he leaned back on his hands, gazing down at the gleaming white of her hair spilling over his legs. The positioning led his mind to further wandering, and he realized how quickly it was causing his restraint to slip. "Look at me," he demanded, suddenly, impulsively.

She did as he asked without a word, unhooking her arms from his waist to rise and meet his gaze. Her eyes were red, her cheeks flushed with dried tears – but it was her hair, disheveled and mussed from his wandering fingers, that pleased him the most.

He touched an errant ringlet. "My, but your hair can be wild, my little bird – like a lover's curls."

"A – _what?_" She gaped at him, her eyes widening ever-so-slightly.

"I suppose you _would _know nothing of that, mmm?" His words were playful, but his eyes held her's intently.

"Would you?" He could barely hear her ask the question.

Loki considered lying, then decided it wasn't worth the effort. "Yes," he answered simply. "I would – and I do."

She blinked once, twice; then frowned. "I... am unsure as to how I feel about that, my Lord," she managed finally, her eyes sliding away from him and towards the fire pit at the center of his room.

"I have both experience _and _age over you, Aeri, as I have known life far longer than you." It was an explanation, but not an apology. Still, he took her hand in his and brushed a soft kiss against the back of her knuckles. "It is something you should have expected."

"It is not that I did not expect it – I..." She faltered and paused, as if to compose herself. "I would have been surprised had you not," she admitted. "But may I ask you a question?"

She seemed suddenly nervous, stealing quick glances at him, her free hand floundering in her lap. "As you will," he allowed, his interest piqued.

She made a point of _not _looking at him, her eyes drawn to some distant point on the floor beyond them. "Did you _enjoy _it?"

The question surprised him – it was a bold question, a direct one, and he had not expected it of her, especially given her current state. But he supposed she was desperate to learn as much about him as she could manage, especially considering the sudden and impending threat of separation.

"Generally one does not indulge in things they do not enjoy, assuming they can help it." When she crinkled her nose at him, he smirked, and continued, "But yes, I have enjoyed it."

She looked up at him and held his gaze for a long moment, then closed her eyes. When she did not say anything, he released her hand and touched his fingers to her chin. "And what of this silence? Are you wounded that I have?"

"Not wounded," Aeri murmured, sinking back some into the blankets and away from his hand. "But... envious."

The admission of her jealousy was oddly satisfying, and he ran his tongue against the inside of his teeth in wicked delectation. "Ah, but little bird, there is nothing to begrudge the women I have known before you."

Her brows knitted together as she frowned up at him, and he found her little indignant pout adorable. "And why not? They have known you..." She trailed off, flushing bright up to the tips of her ears. "...in ways that I could not know."

"Ah, but your definition of intimacy is born of naivete, Aeri," he laughed softly, the heat in her cheeks warming _him _as well. "So they have lain with me; so they may have even known who I was. But they did not _know _me, know anything at all _about _me. And, were I to be honest, I would have to admit that I do not remember any of their names."

Aeri looked taken aback by his confession. "That is cruel, my Lord – a misuse of something sacred. How might they feel, knowing that you could not even spare the thought to remember their name?"

"But you are such a _precious_ child, are you not?" He smirked. "Desire is an interesting concept, and it can be felt for many reasons. Lust can exist without an object, without a focus." When she looked confused, he motioned to his bedside table and a bowl of fruit that sat upon it. "Now, let us say you are hungry, yes? You have a wide variety of choices, but do not crave anything in particular. From the offering, you select the most delectable." Plucking a peach from the bowl, he held it out to her. She took it cautiously, her eyes never leaving him. "It is, as you assumed, delicious. It pleases you – it _sates _you. But it is not _memorable_. In a week, you will have forgotten it."

She lifted the peach towards her mouth, her fingers curling around it. He could not help the grin when she took a small bite of the delicate pink-red flesh, and the sight of the juice trickling from the corner of her lips excited him.

"Now," he continued, and held his hand out to her. She returned the peach to him wordlessly. "Let us say you are hungry – but this time you _do _crave for something. Only that one thing can satisfy you, and everything else offered does nothing but turn your stomach."

Turning the peach about in his hand, Loki found the place she had bitten into. Purposefully he took a bite beside it, and the fruit was cool and sweet on his tongue. He watched her as he chewed, enchanted by her intensifying blush when he swallowed.

"But what you crave, it is a rare and difficult thing to find. You ache for it for _months, _dreaming of it, making do with what you have. Everything else is a distraction, and while you might glean some brief amount of contentment from such diversions, it is not, in the end, lasting. Eventually, your need for what you crave sours your taste for everything else, and you find yourself unable to find joy in anything."

In his hand, the peach began to rot. The color of it faded to yellow, then to brown, and then, at last, to black. Aeri stared at it, transfixed as it caved in on itself before finally falling to ash from his fingers. They fluttered down to his bed like tiny grey snowflakes, and her eyes widened when they seemed to melt upon touching the fabric of his blankets.

"Would you not imagine," he whispered, "How much _more _you would remember that first taste of what you have craved for so long?"

Looking up from the bed and back at him, Aeri considered him for a long moment. "I never took the opportunity to distract myself from my 'hunger', my Lord," she said, carefully, almost anxiously. "It is only you who has indulged."

"Oh, my little bird has been so good, _starving_ herself for me." Loki felt a wicked grin curling at his lips. "You must be _famished_."

Her blush darkened a few shades, and he chuckled.

"Even so," she said, stiffly, attempting to change the subject. "I cannot help but feel for..." But she seemed incapable of finishing her sentence, looking down at her hands again.

"The others?" Loki suggested, and when she looked back up to him he knew he had guessed right. "It is wasted emotion, then. They sought the same things I did – a distraction, a scratch for a bothersome itch. There was never any pretense of anything more." It was not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth, either. Alcohol, he thought, did sometimes obscure boundaries and limits and reasoning – but he had no intention of elaborating that for her.

"If it is all a game to you – then what does that mean for me?" Her question distracted him from his thoughts, and he stood up, looking down at her from his towering height.

"Have you so quickly forgotten what I said?"

She inched back further onto his bed, as if intimidated by his sudden movement and the height he had on her. "But it is I who have longed for you – you, by all rights, could barely remember me until I reminded you of my existence a few days ago."

"Those games have gotten old," he said through smiling teeth. "I tire of them. They hold no meaning and no lasting importance for me. Just because I have sought distractions does not mean I have not longed for something more – but I could never have guessed what that something more was."

He leaned down, then, and took hold of her beneath her arms, pulling her further up the length of his bed. She squealed in surprise, and he saw the flash of wide violet eyes beneath the wavy fall of white-blonde hair. Moving over top of her, he straddled her hips, his knees on either side of her waist. She blinked up at him, shocked, her lips parted as her breathing hitched in her throat.

"Now that I have found it," he drawled, running a finger alongside of her cheek. "There is a new – and more exciting – game to play."


	16. ACT I: Trembling Heat

**Trembling Heat**

**AN:** This has been a long time coming because I started playing The Secret World with my friends and then my internet has been dead off and on and yeah, distractions. :v I also decided I wanted to switch tenses randomly, so uh... yeah... we went from past to present tense. I'm gonna be going back and changing the old chapters over the next few days.

This chapter seems short because I cut out the lemon. But I did write the lemon! I'm just not posting it here to keep my T rating. You can find the lemon at: only **dash** the **dash** weak **dot** deadselly **dot** net. (The bolded parts are the parts you put in a regular url, where dash is **-** and dot is **.** Effeffdotnet hates links...) You can also find a link in my profile if you wanna copy-paste it. :v There's also pictures of Aeri up now too! :)

With the lemon, it's actually my longest chapter yet. (9200, according to OpenOffice, oh my glob.) I'm kind of embarrassed about that. Then again, not really.

* * *

_**Aeri**_

It is the second time in as many days that Loki has Aeri pinned beneath him, but the familiarity of the position does not make it any less jarring or unexpected. While the threat of his intentions had been present the night before, they seem – somehow – even more real now. It is the realization that quickens her heart in her chest and steals the breath from her lungs. For what seems like an eternity she can only stare up at him, attempting to remind herself to breathe.

"My Lord," Aeri whispers, trying hard to keep the tremor from her voice. "I am unsure if pursuing this course of action is... wise."

"And what course of action might that be, Aeri?" The inquiry sounds so innocent, lacking the dark intentions his eyes so clearly hold. Aeri almost finds herself impressed with his acting, but he is doing too good a job at disrupting the rational part of her brain.

With slow moving hands, he hooks his fingers beneath the fabric of his coat. His gaze burns into her, meaningful and almost impertinent.

"Are you – taking off your..." She nearly chokes on the unfinished question.

And he is. Shrugging off his heavy overcoat, Loki lets it drop to the floor beside his bed without a glance in its direction, his eyes still firmly fixed on Aeri's own. The sound of the leather collapsing against itself makes her heart skip several beats. "Are you going to answer me, little bird?" The question is patient, but his eyes glimmer with cruel mirth.

"You know very well what I mean!" Half-exasperated, half-terrified, Aeri startles herself with her outburst. Loki, however, does not seem moved in the slightest.

"Do I?" He gives her an inquisitive look, but she can see the corners of his lips quirking, hinting at a smirk. With a casual air of indifference, he begins to unbuckle the belt that sits around his waist. "Perhaps you should clarify so there is no confusion."

The sharp sound of the metal buckle clacking against itself seems to synch together with each throb of her erratic pulse, and Aeri realizes suddenly that she is gripping the mess of blankets that are tangled beneath her. "Loki..." His name is a plea on her lips, and she reaches for the hand that holds his now freed belt, her fingers brushing against his knuckles.

He raises his eyebrows at her use of his name, and that hint of a smile is finally realized. "Tell me, Aeri," he begins, and his voice is like a velvet flame that licks and laps at her resolve, melting her and filling her with his heat, "Tell me to stop."

It is a dare; it is a test. Silently he continues to undress, working at the light under armor with fluid and quickly moving fingers, his eyes never straying from her. They smolder with the same challenge, knowing and amused.

Would he even stop if she told him to? His confidence – his _arrogance –_ is an almost tangible thing, written as it is in his countenance, apparent in the way he continues to shed the pieces of his regalia with an almost apathetic air. He does not expect her to resist. It is as if he could not even conceive of it.

She had, only moments ago, been attempting to lecture him on intimacy and its sanctity. Even so, her own innocence is something she has never considered with any sort of seriousness. It is simply something that _is, _something she had maintained because she has never before had feelings for anyone attainable. The threat of losing it – of surrender – has never existed before this moment.

As a child, her mother had taken her aside to explain romantic love and the awkward things that came with it: _Many men will desire you,"_ she had said, using a serious voice she rarely employed. _"And some of these men will try to take you to their bed, eager to lie with you, to know you intimately. To these men, love means nothing. They seek only conquest, and you should fear them. Intimacy should be shared only with someone who will care for you – and not only for your body, but for your heart, your mind, for your very soul. Sensuality indulged for its own sake is the misuse of something sacred. I had never known a man intimately before I knew your father. He is my first, and he shall be my last, as was I to him. Remember this, Aeri. Do not let yourself be charmed by serpents who seek to steal their way into your bed and leave you with nothing but empty promises and broken hearts."_

It is a lesson that Aeri had accepted without question – and a lesson that had caused her no small amount of guilt when she would wake, breathless and hot, from dream-gifted visions of the Asgarian prince. She knows that intimacy is meant to be an exchange that happens only on love's terms; she knows that lust, without love to guide it, is a dangerous path to take.

But it is not her own affection that she doubts.

Yet Aeri is frightened about addressing it with him. She runs the risk of offending him, but then she also runs the risk of proving her mother right. What if Loki is the serpent her mother warned her of all those years ago? She would be losing something priceless – something precious. It will be something he will take from her, something she will never again be able to reclaim.

Her fingers curl around his hand, tightening. "How can I be so sure that you will not simply grow bored of me, as you have with the others?" She sees his brows knit together, but she continues anyways, the words spilling from her in an unstoppable rush. "How can I be certain that you will not cast me aside in boredom when you no longer find me worth the effort?"

"Are you asking me to stop?" His tone is cool, his eyes unreadable.

"No," she answers softly but sternly, surprised at the tenacity that has crept into her voice. "I am asking you for honesty. Do not answer my question with another; do not play at evasion."

Loki raises his eyebrows as he considers her, his expression otherwise indiscernible. "So your mettle resurfaces now, hmm?" He peels her fingers from his own, and then slowly – gently – takes her other in his free hand. Purposefully he pulls them up and pins them beside her head, his thumbs massaging the smooth skin of her wrists. The gesture seems so benign, almost affectionate, but his eyes are alight with something else. As he draws closer, she can not help the cool feeling of fear pooling in her stomach, chilling her from the inside out.

"Please." She steels herself, but her voice quavers. She tries another tactic. "I beg you – _please_."

His lips brush the corner of hers, teasing, and the fear is tempered suddenly with giddy, warm desire. "This morning I confessed to you my intentions. Only moments ago, I promised you that your father would not keep you from me." He pauses to connect her mouth and her ear with a chain of feather-light kisses that leave her trembling, and whispers, "I am known for my propensity towards trickery and lies, but I assure you I was uncharacteristically _honest _on both counts. No, no, it will not be that easy for you. You sought my attention, little bird, and now you _have _it."

"Not that easy for me..." There is a threat there, somewhere, and she tries to find it, but her mind is reeling, struggling to put his words together. His closeness is undoing her slowly, and her thoughts are a mess.

Loki releases her wrists and eases himself back up, the gesture jostling her beneath him. His fingers return to the laces of his armor, and suddenly it too was gone, joining his over-coat on the cold floor.

It is strange for Aeri to see Loki in such simple attire; left in only a snug-fitting green shirt and his gray-green breeches, he seems oddly casual. Only his boots retain the severity and extravagance of his usual raiment, and Aeri cannot help her wandering eyes.

Loki had always cut a tall and imposing figure, but while she would never have considered him _delicate_, he did lack the intimidating bulk that most other Asgardian men seemed to possess. And yet those layers he favored in his elaborate attire had hidden so much. His arms are all lean muscle and power, the definition in his chest and stomach apparent even through the fabric of his shirt.

Aeri's heart thrums in her chest, and the same feeling resonates down between her legs. She shudders, involuntarily, growing increasing more aware of her own position between his thighs.

"There may come a time when you regret catching my attention," he continues nonchalantly, as if they are merely discussing the weather, as if she were not gaping up at him in abashed awe. "You will realize, then, that I am not easily dissuaded from taking what I consider to be rightfully mine."

"Take what you want." Aeri has been thinking the words; the idea of it has been haunting her mind for the past few days, ever since he had spoken of it with her on the balcony in the hall. But it is only after a long beat of silence – and the sudden and quick widening of his grin – that she realizes she has also spoken them aloud.

"Oh," he breathes, and she can hear the smirk in his voice. "I plan on it."

Loki sheds his shirt then, peeling it from his hard form in one seamless motion – and Aeri closes her eyes immediately. She hears him – and feels him – laugh. The way his body rocks against her sends creeping chills up and down her spine. "Are you going to play at being coy?"

Aeri makes a face at him.

"You might find that more successful if you opened your eyes, little bird," he teases her.

Opening her mouth, Aeri flounders for a witty retort. But the shock of something soft sliding across her lips startles the impulse from her, effectively silencing her. When it draws across her cheek, she is suddenly aware of what it is: his shirt. The fabric of it is warm against her skin, heated, as it has been, by his body. But it is the scent of it – not the heat – that threatens to overwhelm her.

While Aeri has never been able to discern what exactly it is Loki smells like, she has always subconsciously enjoyed it. A fleeting thing she could never quite place, it was something she only occasionally noticed when she was close enough to him to catch it. Even then, it was never more than a faint observation. But the thin cloth of his undershirt has absorbed much of his scent from the close proximity it kept against against his skin, and pressed now as it is against her cheek, she finds it nearly overpowering. It is as if she might drown in it.

_But it would be a pleasant death, _she determines, the thought difficult to form in her increasingly muddled thoughts. Warm and spicy notes of indulgent soap, a hint of smoke, a pinch of lake air, and then whatever it was his natural smell was – and it was such a _masculine _fragrance, and it overwhelmed her.

Her toes curl, digging into the plush bedding he is pressing her into.

"How vile my thoughts become, little bird," he murmurs, somewhere near her ear. "I ache to press this between your lips, to gag you with it. The visual aesthetic of it would be so pleasing – the way the fabric would spill over your lips, so bright against the white of your skin. And I must admit, muffled cries hold a certain kind of potent thrill." His fingers stroke at her cheek from behind the fabric, pressing it into her flesh. Despite its softness, the fabric begins to chafe uncomfortably against the delicate skin of her face.

She opens her eyes and finds him a mere inch from her, and his grin is wide and leering and full of the white of his teeth. The warmth of his breath tickles against her lips and nose, and she is suddenly dizzy from lack of air.

"But then I would be denying myself the full volume and clarity of the song you will no doubt sing for me," he muses, making a tsking noise with his tongue as he shakes his head. "So perhaps we shall spare you the gag and save it for another day."

It frightens her how he is able to talk about such things so casually, as if the thought of them does not undo him as they are undoing her, but it is _what _he is talking about that frightens her the most. Electricity traces hot patterns along the underside of her skin, and there is an undeniable tightening in the muscles of her stomach.

She is afraid, but she wants it. She wants _him_.

From the look in his eyes, triumphant and proud, she can tell this is something he knows, something he understands implicitly. The fear only heightens that sense of intoxication, that blurring of her mind, and impulsively she lifts trembling hands to his arms. The flesh beneath her fingers is warm and firm, and she can feel the muscles slide and tense beneath his skin.

Loki looks mildly surprised at her sudden boldness, but only for a moment. Releasing his shirt, he straightens up, taking her hands in his own. He studies them for a moment, at the way his fingers encompass hers, at how much larger his hands are. Blinking once – twice – he smirks, and pulls them to him, pressing and holding her palms against his bare chest. The heat of his skin is searing, and she can feel the pulse of his heart. The intimacy of the touch brings on a brighter flush to her cheeks, and her mouth goes dry.

"If you are going to touch me," he says, his voice soft and cool. "You should _truly _touch me."

And though he holds one hand against his chest, he begins to guide the other down – down, down, _down_, and Aeri cannot help but close her eyes again.

* * *

**AN2: **Yeah, yeah, yeah – remember, if you wanna read this ridiculously long lemon, you can find the copypasta link in my profile or you can go here: only **dash** the **dash** weak **dot** deadselly **dot** net.


	17. ACT I: Damnation

**Damnation**

**AN: **First I'd like to thank anyone that's still here and that's continued to review my stuff. :) It really keeps me going! Nothing is more inspirational than reviews, so I deffo appreciate it! Secondly I'd like to apologize for my long absence – I've had a really rough couple of months what with having to put down my dog, nearly losing the next one I adopted, and all manner of crazy car trouble. It's seriously been awful.

In less serious excuses, I'm also a gamer, and I've been tooling around in Guild Wars and Borderlands (both 2!) since those just came out. I'm also revisiting my love affair with the Old Republic, cause uh, yeah, I'm a nerd. Gotta pray grames errrr'day. (Oh, Mordecai, ilubby - so glad he's in the second one, unfunfunf.)

I'mma try to get and stick to a schedule of writing this, because I really do want to see it through, and stuff has been kind of calming down now. So I'mma shoot for once a week. Really need to get through this first act, cause it's all just fluffy set up, and I'm itching for the drama to start happening. I'm just really prone to over-indulging on the fluffy passionate front. It doesn't help that it's fun to work with Loki's warring emotions.

Anyways. Thanks again, really, for sticking around. I love you guys. :D (Also glad everyone seemed to like the lemon! :v)

* * *

_**Loki**_

After an hour of tortured ecstasy, Loki is hardly surprised when Aeri drowses; he can't even bring himself to hold it against her. Instead he watches – with no small amount of interest – fascinated by all the small details of her subtle transformation. And she _is _lovely to behold in repose, in the way the red flush of her cheeks dims like embers dying, in the way her unsteady breath stills and slows to silence. The tension in the delicate features of her face relaxes, smoothed and soothed by welcome sleep, and when he touches her lips with light fingers she does not even stir.

But most of all, he is fascinated by the way she nestles against him, her head tucked against the side of his chest, her slender arm draped across his stomach. Her breath tickles and warms his skin, but it is a pleasant sensation. _Intimate._

Loki frowns as the thought comes to him. Intimacy is something he has never truly known – something he has never cared to know. It had always sickened him when the girls he had chosen to pursue for his casual dalliances played at affection or sweetness. He found it cloying, and always made a point to employ a special sort of cruelty in response. Inevitably it succeeded at discouraging further attempts at false tenderness – it was hard to whisper sweet-nothings when one was screaming in agony.

But Aeri's affections, he knows, are hardly false; he has seen them, raw and wet in the tears that had filled her eyes as she had confessed them to him. Her screams had been an ill-fitting gag for the emotions that seemed to pour from her very being. Knowing her, taking her – it had been an entirely different animal from the women he had known before. Aeri had accepted him and desired him not only to sate some baser imperative, but because she _loved _him. Because she loves him.

_Love. _And that frown deepens.

He can't help but admit that she has found a way under his skin. Her adulation plays at his ego, but it is the honesty and sincerity of her passion that works at weakening his defenses. While he does not think he _loves _her, he cannot deny that she sparks some undeniable kind of sentimentality in him.

It is the sentimentality that concerns him.

Loki lets his fingers trace the contours of her face as his frown deepens. "Love," he whispers to her sleeping form, "Love will make a fool of even the most intelligent man. It is weakness and vulnerability, and I will have none of it. Do you understand? Do not misunderstand this as love."

Aeri does not answer him, but sighs in her sleep, her eyelashes fluttering as she dreams of things he cannot know. He sets his jaw against the way her fragility tugs at his heart and closes his eyes, concentrating, for a time, on the soft sound of her breathing.

As the minutes pass, slow and easy, he begins to relax. Her presence is oddly soothing, her heat welcome, the weight of her arm around him comfortable. Closing his eyes, he sighs. "This is not love," he says again, suddenly too tired to hate the lack of conviction in his own voice – suddenly too tired to realize who, exactly, he is trying to convince.

* * *

Loki wakes with a start to the sound of banging on his door. Aeri is already awake, sitting up and tucked into his blankets, watching the door with wide-eyed apprehension. When he sits up beside her, her eyes dart to him, her lips parting as if to say something.

He presses his hand to her mouth. "Hush," he scolds her under his breath. "Hush and be still and do not say a word. Do not even think about moving." With one smooth gesture he presses her back into the bed, pulling the covers atop her in a haphazard manner. Then he stands and finds his breeches, pulling them on with haste as the clamoring cacophony at his door increases in intensity.

"Who is it?" Loki calls out irritably, his fingers flying over the lacings.

"Brother! So you _are _here!" At once the knocking stills, replaced instead by Thor's thundering voice. Loki does not even have the time to flinch before Thor has thrown the door open, the sound of it sharp and loud and disorienting as it clatters against the wall.

"Where _else _would I be?" Loki's voice is frosty, his eyes flickering between Thor and his battered door.

"I would have put my coin on the feast, but it appears that is a bet I would have lost," Thor answers cheerily as he steps into the room, turning briefly from his brother to attempt pushing the heavy door back into place.

Loki does not share in Thor's good humor, his fingers curling into tight fists as he realizes he has slept through the beginning of the feast. It is not the thought of missing the feast that nurses his sudden anxiety – it is the disappoint he is sure his father will find with him.

As if to confirm his fears, Thor turns from the door to Loki and shrugs. "Father was going to send someone else to fetch you, but I asked to be sent instead."

"For what? To spare me the verbal lashing?" Loki cannot help the bitter tone in his voice, but if Thor notices he does not give any indication. Instead he sighs, and shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"To be honest, I grow more than a little weary of the feasts. One night would have sufficed, and while it is only the second night, I find the hours dragging. I can only imagine how it is for you. Father was unhappy, but I begged he not find fault with you, and he seemed to relent. I must admit though..." Thor's eyes drift around the room – as if looking for something – before they find their way back to Loki. "I had not expected to find you alone."

Loki cannot help his relief at hearing that the Allfather is not angry, but he keeps his expression neutral. Instead he addresses the question he knows Thor is asking with his poorly feigned casual indifference. "And whose company did you assume I would be keeping?"

Thor is all broad grins and bright eyes. "That lovely Elvish girl. She seems quite taken with you - and she is also conspicuously missing."

"Unfortunately I am alone," Loki says curtly, irrationally annoyed by Thor's cheer. "Though I do not know why you are making her infatuation your business."

"Oh, brother, come now," Thor scoffs, but there is a smile that plays at his lips. "You cannot expect to keep the company of a girl – and so lovely a girl! – without attracting the attention of others. As someone who is so rarely willing to spare even a moment of your time, you must understand... we are all breathless with anticipation and wonder."

It is Loki's turn to scoff. "I am debating as to whether or not I should take offense to that sentiment."

"Oh, brother, come now!" The faintest hint of exasperation has begun to creep into Thor's voice, and the strain evident there acts as a sort of balm for Loki's vaguely wounded ego. "Damn your pride – I only meant to express my congratulations!"

"Congratulations?" Loki's lip curls as he repeats the word. "Even now her father has forbidden her a relationship with me and plans to spirit her away back to Alfheim when your indulgent feasts come to an end. In a few days she will be gone, and what then will your congratulations and wonder buy me?"

The budding frustration in Thor's expression vanishes, replaced instead with wide-eyed surprise. "Arnkell? But the man may as well be father's closest friend, the way the two of them have been carrying on, for all the stories father has told me – why then would he refuse you, a _son _of Odin, a _son _of his dearest friend?"

Loki does not answer, pressing his teeth together tightly to bite back the acidic reply that burns on the tip of his tongue. Thor asks the questions that linger like buzzing flies in the back of Loki's mind, and the questions renew his anger.

"Loki..." And Loki hates the pity evident in Thor's tone nearly as much as he hates Aeri's father.

"Be gone with you, Thor, and leave me to my own devices," Loki shakes his head, his voice cool as he balls his shirt in his hands. "Tell Father that you have seen me and that I am unwell; I must make arrangements for the difficult situation Arnkell has placed me in."

"Then you _do _harbor feelings for her?" Thor sounds almost childish in the sudden surge of his excitement, his blue eyes shining.

It is all Loki can do to keep back the urge to physically remove Thor from the room. Instead he takes a deep breath to still his flaring temper and closes his eyes. "Thor – let us say that I do, perhaps, harbor feelings for her. Please, then, would you _consider _just how this situation might affect me negatively? How it might spoil my mood? I do not wish to discuss this with you, for even the thought of it tries at my patience."

Thor opens his mouth, then closes it – opens it again, and closes it once more. After considering Loki silently for one long moment, he bows his head. "I will respect your wishes, brother, and let Father know you are unwell. And if I happen upon the little elf – "

"Yes, yes. _Do _send her my way, mm?" Loki gives Thor a mirthless smile, his tone cold, and Thor quiets. With another bow of his head, Thor retreats through the door in a manner far more careful than his entrance – and for that, at least, Loki is grateful. Crossing his arms across his chest, he closes his eyes, his mouth a thin line as he considers his limited options.

"Loki..."

Aeri's voice behind him is timid, unsure. Loki turns slowly, meeting her eyes as they peek up over the heavy blankets of his bed. She looks so small – a doll atop the over-large bed – and he finds the way her white hair spills across the mountain of cushions alluring.

He sighs, but then – despite himself – he smiles. And though it is a tired smile, it is also genuine. The honesty of it is both strange and surreal, and he covers it with his hand as he massages his jaw, suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious. It is not a feeling he is familiar with, and its foreign nature is vaguely agitating.

Movement from the bed recaptures his attention, and Loki watches as Aeri rises from the cushions, a thin, billowing silk sheet wrapped around her slender form. With ginger steps, she makes her way towards him until she stands directly before him, looking up at him through tousled curls.

The violet hue of her eyes seems somehow brighter, more intense, something like worry clearly evident in them. "I feel I should... apologize, my Lord," she says, her voice hushed, her tone guilty.

Loki raises his eyebrows, somewhat taken aback by her sudden boldness. "And to what end do you owe me an apology, little bird?"

"It seems as if I have created an unfortunate series of complications for you," Aeri begins, looking away from him. "And for that I am sorry. But that is not all that I must apologize for."

Loki cannot help the smirk that spreads across his face. "I shall not disagree with you, Aeri; you are certainly a complication," he concedes dryly, absently tucking a stray white curl behind her ear. The warm glow that lights in her cheeks at his touch grants him a tiny thrill, and he can feel that smirk widening. "But what other sins do you ache to confess?"

"I know that the simplest answer is more than likely the best one – that I should respect my father's wishes, that I should return to Alfheim and forget my childish fancy. And perhaps that would be best – not only for myself, but for _you_. What am I to you, a son of the _Allfather_? I am not of Asgard, and my place is not in Asgard regardless of the friendship our fathers share.

"It is something I have told myself every night; a desperate attempt to find meaning elsewhere, to escape from this mental cage I have inadvertently locked myself in. Dreams are important; they are what drive us, what inspire us to action. Without dreams, how empty would we be? And yet, dreams are poison – we can be held captive by our own desires, unable to grow, unable to move beyond our fixations and our desires.

"I never expected this..." She looks back up to him, her expression pained. "Though I longed for it, never in my wildest dreams did I dare hope that fantasy would become reality. And even though it has happened, I still am not convinced that _this_ is what is meant to be."

"Aeri," Loki starts, frowning, but the Elvish girl shakes her head, her fingers sliding over his arms.

"No – please – let me speak. My father has told me that he will not permit this – and I know that I should obey him. I know that this path is not the one I am meant to follow, and I am sure much pain will come of it. And that is what I must apologize for."

She takes a deep breath and finds his gaze, her brows furrowed in determination. "I cannot do what I am supposed to do. I cannot make that decision; I cannot bear to. And I must apologize because this foolish pursuit will no doubt cause _you _further complication." Aeri's hard expression softens suddenly, her eyes blurring with the hint of tears. "Loki... I _love_ you, and I do not care what my father says. Please, please – I beg you," she whispers, her voice wavering and raw with sudden emotion. "You must not let him take me away. The thought of it alone makes me feel as if I will suffocate, as if I will drown...!"

And suddenly her arms are around him, the sheet that hid her nakedness a forgotten puddle pooling at their feet. The heat of her body against his is already familiar, her small fingers pressing against the small of his back bittersweet. He looks down at her, at the top of her head as she presses her cheek to his chest, at the gentle and delicate slope of her nose. Her tears tickle at his naked stomach, tracing a searing path down to the hem of his hastily laced breeches.

"I have been told I have a silver tongue, little bird, and I will arrogantly agree that there is certainly some truth to that claim," Loki says, dropping his shirt to slide his fingers across her small, bare shoulders. "As such, I feel as if I am a fair judge – and you, little bird, can certainly be _quite _charming with that pretty little mouth of yours."

Gently, he pushes her away – but only enough so that he can lean down and level his face with hers. With one hand, he presses his fingers to her cheek, tracing the trails of her tears. "But you waste your breath with your apologies, my little bird."

He pauses to savor the way Aeri's expression blanches – the way the pain blooms in her eyes, the way her lips tremble. It strokes at his pride – it strengthens his ego. "But... but you said – "

"Shhh," he soothes her, moving his hand to stroke at her hair, unable to keep the grin from his face. "You misunderstand me. Your apology is unwarranted because you do nothave a _choice_. Do you think I would simply _allow _you to return home, as if none of this had happened? That I would _permit _these grand confessions of yours and then watch you slip away, discontent with your brief indulgence?" Loki makes a tsking noise and shakes his head slowly. "You sought my attention, Aeri, and now you have it... and it shall be something you will find difficult to lose."

She blinks at him, her lips parted – and he can feel that her breath has quickened again, can feel the heat of her cheeks against his fingers. "My Lord..."

Loki lifts his other hand from her shoulder and, with both of them, cups her face. "I _want_ you," he presses his lips to the corner of her mouth, his lips moving against her skin as he speaks. "And I shall _have_ you, and I shall _keep _you... your father – and your 'correct choice' – be _damned_."

And when he claims her mouth with his, he is shaken by the tenacity in his voice –by how much he _means _it. It is something he never would have expected: the feeling of sentimentality and cruelty mixing within him, twisting inside of him, violent and yet oddly compatible, like oil and fire.

"My Lord," she cries against his mouth, her arms curling around his shoulders in an obvious attempt to support herself. Loki can feel her weight pull on him as her knees buckle, and he catches her in his arms, lifting her up to claim the tender flesh of her throat with his teeth. ""My Lord, _please_ – again – I want you _again." _And it is the pleading, begging note in her voice sets him aflame.

Laughing, clear and cold, he nips hard at the slope of her shoulder as he carries her back towards his bed. "Oh, my precious little bird – then you shall have me." And as he presses her into the blankets once more, his fingers finding their way to the lacings of his breeches, he grins. "Your father be _damned_."


	18. ACT I: The Storms Will Lead You Home

**The Storms Will Lead You Home**

**AN: **Yeah, so that took longer than a week, and I apologize. I got super into playing Skyrim again, and between that and TF2 I haven't had a whole lot of time to do anything. Gotta nerd out.

Anyways, Act I comes to an end with this chapter (ugh, thank god – I have really been wanting to write Act II and III lately, and it's part of why it's been hard to motivate myself to write this chapter. I struggled with it for ages, and hated it with a passion as I was writing it. I don't mind it so much now – but I still don't feel like it's my strongest piece of writing. What can you do?

Thanks to everyone for sticking around. :) I always appreciate the reviews. Hope everyone in the ol' US of A had a good Turkey Day too. Also, go see The Rise of the Guardians, guys. Who'd have thought Jude Law could pull off a voice that makes everyone go "Holy crap, Pitch is LOKI." Durr.

* * *

"_One sails the seas of life and believes_

_The storms will lead you home._

_These open roads will call you with the promise;_

_You'll walk the world alone."_

- _The Promise, _Globus

* * *

_**Loki**_

It is the morning after the second feast, and Aeri is gone when Loki wakes. Her disappearance does not surprise him; he had told her the night before that she should leave well within the dark hours of the morning, certain that a longer absence might alarm Arnkell and further upset the Elvish man's already negative opinion of the situation.

The linens of his bed still smells of Aeri's perfume; a light floral scent, sweet but not cloying. Loki lifts a blanket and brings it to his face, presses it against his mouth and breathes in, long and deep. For a moment, it seems to overwhelm him, but the sensation is not uncomfortable. It fills his head with a buzzing warmth, similar to the sensation of being fleetingly and pleasantly drunk. He closes his eyes and takes in another breath, drowsing – reveling – in the sense of calm that washes over him, in the empty thoughts that calmness affords.

And for that moment, his mind is truly and blissfully free of the nagging doubts and snapping suspicions that usually plague him. That cold, hateful inner voice is mercifully silent, and he thinks of nothing other than the taste of her mouth against his and the soft sounds she makes when he has her beneath him.

But when he opens his eyes, the sun is so painfully bright. Flinching in the severity of it, reality comes rushing in on the wings of a sudden and explosive headache, and he cannot still the audible hiss that passes his lips. Throwing his arm across his eyes, his mouth pulls a frown behind the fabric.

Arnkell. His own father. Thor, and the meaning behind the feasts.

The feasts speak of something far more than the simple celebration of Thor's latest heroic exploits. Though it has been kept relatively secret, Loki knows that at the end of the week the Allfather will announce his decision regarding the inheritance of his throne – and it is painfully obvious to Loki who Odin has chosen.

This choice is something Loki has been trying to ignore – something he has been preparing for since childhood, since that first creeping inclination that his father favored Thor stole into his mind and settled in like a weed he could not be rid of. Behind the many masks he has worn in an attempt to stifle his anger, though, he has always seethed, always raged, barely able to contain the encroaching fury. It is with no small amount of surprise, then, that he realizes just how much Aeri has distracted him.

And how much the thought of losing her to her father's stubbornness infuriates him.

He sits up, suddenly, pulling the cloth from his face, the other blankets spilling down his naked form. With purpose he rises to his feet, finding his breeches beside the bed where he had left them, abandoned, the night before.

As he begins to dress, Loki considers his disappointingly limited options. There is nothing to be done with Thor, he realizes – at least not now. The announcement will come, and the kingdom will celebrate, but Loki knows that he will at least have a few good years to plan before Thor's actual coronation. Aeri's inevitable return to Alfheim demands more attention; the days seem as scant as mere hours. Frowning, he pulls on a pair of well worn boots, then pauses to stare at his hands.

Companionship. Has it really been so long since he has craved it so much? Loki picks up the heavy blanket and slides it between his fingers, eyes tracing the patterns of the fabric. And he can smell her again, sweet and warm, and he can remember the feel of her tucked against him, her breath soft and tickling just against his collar bone.

Loneliness. It settles into him like a chill, curling cold fingers around his bones and his spine, settling about his shoulders and arms in a flutter of goosebumps. And it _has_ been so _long_, and he presses the blankets into his eyes, his mouth a tight, painful line.

_Only the weak are not lonely_. It is a whispered thought, a favorite mantra, a familiar prayer – a _choice_. And he finds himself mouthing the words aloud, his lips scraping across the fabric. Loki has spent years embracing his own loneliness, building himself up in the murky shadows of Thor's fame, justifying his solitude with a sense of intellectual superiority. Friendship, he has always reasoned, could make a man happy – but it came at too steep a price. Emotional bonds, while fulfilling on some level, were little more than distractions from his ambitions.

And it has been easy enough to follow through on his beliefs – at least until now. As he and Thor had grown apart, Loki had been loathe to find anyone to replace his brother, and the loneliness itself had become something of a familiar replacement for friends – proof, in Loki's mind, that he was succeeding where his brother could not.

Years. Years and years, and he has never _not _known loneliness. And its touch is cold and aching and familiar as it curls itself around him, settling about him like a shroud – and he _hates _it. Hates it because it is nothing like her, because its voice is acidic and biting and mocking, because its teeth are sharp and gnashing, because its heart is full of doubt and hate.

He pushes his face into the fabric again and takes another deep, shaking breath. _"I love you," _he can hear her say, her voice cutting through the sound of Loneliness' whispers.

_Just this; just her, _he justifies._ Nothing more. She will not hinder my ambitions; there is no weakness in this indulgence. _

But as he stands, moving towards the door, he cannot help the small and lingering fear that he is lying to himself.

* * *

The Allfather is alone in one of the less-traveled gardens when Loki finds him. The distinct lack of guards is only somewhat surprising – their presence is more a tradition than a requirement, given Odin's well-established skill in combat. Rather, it is the Allfather's distraction that is unsettling – it is only when Loki is nearly upon him that the man even registers his son's approach.

"Loki," Odin speaks his son's name in greeting, his one good eye moving slowly from the cloudless sky to fix Loki in place. Obediently, Loki stills, bowing his head in an earnest gesture of respect.

"Father," Loki says, quieting his voice with careful, respectful reverence. "I must apologize for – "

But Odin raises a single hand and Loki lapses into immediate silence, his eyes fixing themselves on the ground.

"Thor has come already, seeking your pardon, bearing your excuses for you." Odin's voice is difficult to interpret, and Loki lifts his head to fix his eyes on his father, dark eyebrows raised. "I will admit to disappointment, but your absence was ultimately trivial. However it is not your absence – or your apologies for it – that bring you here before me," Odin continues, and still his tone betrays nothing. "Is it?"

"It is not," Loki concedes. "And I understand that I am in no position to beg favors of you, Father, given my selfish misbehavior..."

Odin does not speak, but when he inclines his head to the side, Loki takes a deep breath. Lowering his head again, he presses his palms to his thighs and gives a little bow. "I come to ask for your help, that you might speak to Aeri's father on my behalf."

"You wish to court Aeri." It is a statement more than a question, and Loki straightens himself again.

"I do," Loki whispers the response, his green eyes burning into his father's single blue.

The Allfather sighs, and the sound causes a creeping sense of unease along the tense line of Loki's spine. It is only with practiced effort that he keeps a scowl from creasing his brows.

"You are the second person to seek my counsel regarding this matter, Loki." There is a weariness in his father's voice that raises a cold fire in Loki with such a suddenness that he nearly overwhelmed. "And the first did not seek it in your favor."

For a moment, Loki cannot speak – and in that moment, Loki _hates _Aeri's father. This time, he does not try to curb the anger from his voice; he could not if he wanted to. "_Arnkell_."

Odin closes his one good eye and sighs again. When he speaks, Loki cannot help but notice that the elder man seems lacking in his usual conviction. "Please mind your temper, Loki. I have sympathy for your plight, but the man has his reasons."

Of the two princes, it is never Loki who questions their father. Born of equal parts desire to be seen as superior to his often impudent and disobedient brother, and an effort at winning their Father's rarely granted approval, Loki has always favored silence to argument. But Odin's hesitation undoes Loki's restraint, and the words spill from him, unthinking, fueled by fury.

"And what egregious and unjust reason has Arnkell cited for his disapproval? I should think that, as your friend, he would be _ecstatic... _that he is anything _but_ I find offensive, both for myself and for _your_ honor, Father."

The Allfather crosses his arms across his broad chest and presses his lips together into a stern frown. It is a familiar expression, one that calls to mind the many times Odin has scolded Thor, but there is something about it that seems amiss this time – something Loki cannot quite place. "Arnkell is indeed one of my dearest friends – he has been a companion, an ally, a brother in arms. We have known each other for many years, and I would see to it that we might continue to maintain that bond for many more to come." Odin pauses, as if to compose himself – and Loki begins to feel doubt, dark and angry, bubbling up within his chest. "But that is all he is, Loki; a friend. He is not a retainer. I am in no place to make demands of him, and as a friend, I must respect his decisions even if they cause me great sadness."

"You are evading my question, Father," Loki all but breathes the words, his eyes narrowing to slits.

Odin appears briefly taken aback at his son's brashness, and some of the severity of that stern scowl falters. Though he recovers quickly, it is enough for Loki to know – to _know _beyond a shadow of a doubt –that his father is not being entirely honest.

But Odin has regained his composure. "Arnkell did make mention of some casual dalliances you have had in the darker corners of the city, and – "

"What?" Loki cannot help the way his voice raises with the interruption or the way his teeth grind against each other. "How would he even _know _such a thing?"

"Are you declaring your innocence?" Odin asks him rather seriously, his expression solemn.

For a brief split-second, Loki considers lying. But his father's gaze is so piercing, so knowing – it penetrates his very soul, and leaves the dark haired prince with nothing, without a lie to build upon. "No," he admits, the word short and terse.

Odin does not look surprised in the least, but his eye seems to soften with something like sympathy. "Apparently he finds your indiscretion unappealing, and doubts the legitimacy of your intentions for his daughter because of it."

"That is grievously unfair, Father, and you _know_ it to be true. Casual dalliances, indeed – so I am to be damned for childish fits of fancy, then? For a _boy's_ mistakes? Cruel as it may have been on my part, they meant _nothing_. I could see his doubt had I made myself a fool, bringing them home in droves, smitten and lovelorn with every pretty smile that caught my eye. But that I have gone public with my interest in Aeri should be enough to suggest that my intentions are both noble and honest in nature. That I stand before you now, pleading for you to intervene on my behalf – is that not enough to prove the sincerity of my affection?"

"Loki, please do not think I am lacking in compassion for your situation... nothing could be further from the truth. I do not doubt your feelings, and I agree that it is unjust to judge you on the amorous impudence of youth. Even so, there is nothing I can do. Arnkell is resolute."

Loki closes his eyes for a moment as the words echo in his head, sweet-sticky with useless compassion – the chorus of them does nothing for his already throbbing headache. "There has to be another reason." The words are a whisper, and when Loki looks up to his father, Odin is not looking at him. "Father... there has to be another reason."

"If there is, Arnkell did not see fit to make me aware of it." But Odin's voice seems hollow, tinny. False.

"You are lying to me."

"Loki." The way the Allfather says Loki's name is sharp, brokering no room for further discussion. "I will not be spoken to in that way. I am still your father; I am still your king. I will not stand for this recalcitrance. There is nothing I can do. Now, go and bid your farewell to Aeri. Arnkell managed enough kindness to allow at least that much."

"What?" And suddenly, Loki is not thinking of Odin. Suddenly, he can only think of Aeri. "But there are still days left until – "

"Aeri's absence from the feast – coinciding, inconveniently, as it was, with yours – was the cause of no small amount of alarm for Arnkell," Odin says tiredly, massaging the bridge of his nose. "His first inclination was to assume she was with you. Whether there is any truth to that guess remains to be seen, but the threat of it seemed to be motivation enough for Arnkell. He is fast making preparations to leave for Alfheim this afternoon."

"Father!"

"There is nothing I can do, Loki." The Allfather shakes his head, his eye closed, his mouth an apologetic frown. "You should go to Aeri now. But before you do, please go and find your mother in her chambers. She wishes to speak with you."

Loki can only stare at his father, his fingers clenched to fists at his sides. "How can you simply abide by this injustice?"

Odin only shakes his head again.

And that familiar thought crosses Loki's mind, filling him with cold and jealous venom. It consumes him, threading its way through his veins, throbbing in his temples, burning in his mouth. And the words are like acid on his tongue, and he cannot hold them back any longer. "And were I Thor, would you see to intervene then? That I could only be your favorite, that you might lend me the weight of your words as you would, undoubtedly, for him!"

The Allfather seems visibly startled by this accusation, and Loki cannot help the cool sense of satisfaction that seeps into him as those words stretch into a long and uneasy silence.

"Do you really think that to be true, Loki?" The Allfather's voice sounds strange and unnatural when he finally speaks.

"Can you deny it, Father?"

But Loki does not give his father time to answer. Instead he turns on his heel and leaves his father to the empty garden, his steps quickened by the thought of lost time and goodbyes.

* * *

The door to Aeri's quarters hangs open on ornate hinges, and for a moment Loki fears she is already gone. On quiet feet he moves to the doorway, barely daring to breath – but to his relief, he finds her there alone, slowly and carefully folding dresses atop a large ivory chest of Elven design.

Though her hands tremble, her movements are automatic and methodical. It is evident that her mind is not there, and in the red streaks of her cheeks and the wet glimmer of her eyes, her grief is readily apparent, raw and nearly palpable.

The sight of her there gives him pause. She is too small for the room, too delicate even for the flashy finery of it, and though her dress is plain and her hair mussed, she outshines it all. Her melancholy lends her a vulnerability that brings a painful swelling to his throat, and in that moment he finds her unspeakably lovely.

But it is an unpleasant realization. It is unpleasant to admit that her sorrow appeals to him only because her adulation of him appeals to him; it is unpleasant to admit that he will miss her.

Aeri does not see him as he approaches, and only when he is standing just beside her does finally she look up at him, her fingers stilling at the cloth between them.

She does not speak, and she is not crying, but her lips quiver with the threat of it. He kneels beside her, careful to keep his expression neutral.

"You have surely heard..." Her voice is little more than the ghost of a whisper.

"I have."

"Then there is nothing to be done?" She looks like a child lost, violet eyes wide, blinking, searching his face for something, _anything_. But for once, he has nothing clever to say. There are no lies to be told, and he is left only with the cold and unforgiving truth.

"My father finds favor with yours."

Loki expects her to to fall apart, to wail, to sob. Instead, she only closes her eyes, taking in one slow and shaking breath. The candor of the gesture pulls at the knot in his throat, somehow more poignant than the hysteria he was anticipating.

"Then there is nothing to be done." When she opens her eyes they are bright with fresh tears. "The dream comes to an end so quickly."

He takes her chin in his hand and catches a stray tear with his thumb. "You cannot sleep forever, little bird. All dreams must come to an end."

"Then is it truly over? Is this all there is to be?" Something like dulled panic has crept into her tone, her breathing quickening the erratic rise and fall of her chest.

And he considers her silently for a long moment, weighing his options in his mind. "If I were to pick the easier answer, I would say 'yes'. I was never one to indulge in these sorts of fancies; attachments are wearisome and lead to unnecessary complications." Loki pauses to watch her reaction, and the hurt that flickers across her face brings an unbidden smile to his lips. He cannot help the sense of satisfaction he finds in her fear of his rejection, at the sorrow that creases her brow. It touches at his pride, and in that moment he realizes he is not willing to lose her. "Now now, be still. Regardless of that, I find the sincerity of your affection endearing; it rekindles something inside me that I have not known in years, and in these few short days I have grown rather fond of the warmth it affords me."

She opens her mouth as if to speak, but he presses his thumb to her lips and shushes her. It has been so long since he has spoken of himself to anyone, and suddenly it is too much effort to keep it back any longer. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, and continues, "Loneliness has been my closest ally for as long as I can remember; I have never shared in my brother's fame, with his innumerable friends and doting admirers. Where Thor knew strength unmatched and will untameable, I was the dark one, the quiet one, the clever one. But in Asgard, cleverness is not as well regarded as strength, and I have... suffered, as it were, for that."

Suddenly his mouth feels dry, and he presses it closed. The thought that she might find him childish occurs to him, filling him with an acute and abrupt sense of dread. But then he feels her fingers, cool and soothing against his cheek, and when he opens his eyes he finds her looking up into his face, her expression softened with genuine sympathy. "It may not be much, but I much prefer you to your brother," she says, quietly, almost shyly. "I remember nothing so vividly as I do that night, those many years ago. Asgard had charmed me enough, with its towers that stretched an eternity to the skies and its lights that danced forever across the horizon – and then there was you. And I did not know who you were, standing tall and dark lean beside the Allfather, your expression so serious and stern. You were not at all like the rest of them, who laughed at nothing and smiled at even less. You were nothing like anything I had ever, in my short existence, known – and even as a child, I was smitten. I remember touching my mother's hand, asking her for your name... Loki. Odinson. Prince of Asgard.

"When Fandral gave his announcement, I could not fathom how no one sought your attention; and when you made your way, alone, to the balcony... I could not help myself. I stole from my parents with the intention of giving you a chance to fight." She traces the thin line of his lips with one small finger. "I wanted to see you smile."

"And what has this childish infatuation afforded you?" He asks her suddenly, intensely, taking hold of her slender shoulders in his hands. "In our lifetime, these small moments will be little more than mere seconds of a memory; can you really say it is worth the pain that will follow in their wake?"

Aeri does not hesitate with her answer. "Yes," she whispers fervently, eyes bright. "Yes. If, in all my days, I know nothing but sorrow at losing you – I will still have my memories. I will still know that I lived my dream, however brief. And it will be enough."

Her words carry a definitiveness to them he did not expect of her, and he cannot help his surprise at her conviction. "But how can you be so certain of such a thing? You were a child then, and you are little more than a child still. Time is not kind, Aeri; love falls to its blade, just as everything must."

"No." She shakes her head, her expression resolute. "I have kept you in my heart for years, knowing full well that reality would not be kind. It was doubtful that you even remembered my face, let alone my name – and still I spurned the advances of boys who pursued my affections, ignorant and careless as to their feelings and my future. But would it not have been unfair to give my heart to someone when it so clearly belonged to you? And now – now..." She presses one hand to her chest, just above the small swell of her breasts, her eyes wet with tears. "Now there is no question. I would rather know loneliness for the rest of my days than accept the lie I would be living, finding life with anyone but you."

Again, Loki is left with nothing to say. It is not a situation he has ever imagined himself in, and the rawness of her confession leaves him slightly dazed. His initial reaction is doubt: she _is _a child, barely a woman, naïve and ignorant of the world. And he has always doubted love; he has seen its fickle and careless nature in the impulsive actions of others, seen enough of it to question its legitimacy. The thought of opening himself up to such heartache always struck him as a fool's folly.

But _she_ is the one making a fool of herself, and for _him_. She is allowing weakness into her heart for _him_. And that changes things; he cannot deny that it changes them drastically.

Aeri interrupts his thoughts by seeking his hand with her own. She threads her fingers through his and offers him a brave, if sad, smile. "We shall know loneliness together."

"The reasons for our loneliness are different, Aeri," he argues, but he cannot find it in him to pull his hand from hers. "I have chosen to accept mine, for only the _weak_ are not lonely. It is a principle I have followed since childhood. Love leaves one open to heartache – leaves one wanting, leaves one weak. But loneliness, for all that it offers, is still cold, and unforgiving, and it will not be kind to you."

"So you keep loneliness' company in an effort to protect yourself, and perhaps you will succeed. Perhaps you will never know that heartache. But knowing it does not change my decision. Our paths are different, but they lead to the same place... and I welcome it in the face of the alternative."

It would be so easy, he realizes. It would be so easy to let her leave, to never speak to her again, to go about his life as if they had never met – pretending she was a dream, a fanciful figment of his imagination. Her father is a convenient excuse, his own father's inaction an added, if unnecessary, justification.

But her hand in his feels so warm, and her eyes are so bright, and they touch something inside of him that he had forgotten even existed. And he wants her to love him; he wants it desperately. And he does not want to let it go.

"It does not have to be like this," he breathes the words, barely daring to say them aloud.

"What?" She sounds surprised, and her eyes widen slightly.

Loki slips a hand beneath the leather of his long coat and brings out his mother's gift – a small, silver pocket mirror. The metal feels cool in his hand, and he holds it out to her.

Aeri frowns at it, clearly confused. "What is it?"

"A mirror." He presses it into her hands. "It is for you."

She turns it over a few times, studying it silently. The compact itself is small, carefully engraved with delicate flowers. The filigree has worn down over time, but the effort put into the design is staggering, and Aeri seems impressed even in her bewilderment. "It is certainly very lovely," she murmurs.

"Open it."

Her fingers find the latch along the thin disk, and when she presses it, the cover opens with a soft click. With raised eyebrows, she looks over the compact and up at him. "The glass is black; it reflects nothing. But you said..." Her voice trails off, uncertain.

"It does reflect something – more than you would expect." Reaching into his coat again, Loki pulls out another mirror. "Many years ago, duty kept my father from Asgard for extended periods of time. This had an obvious toll on my mother, and she suffered for it. The mirror you have in your hand was a gift from my father to my mother; he found it on one of his many adventures, and it was his answer for the distance between them."

Loki opens his own mirror, and when he looks inside of it, he hears Aeri gasp. He _sees_ her gasp – reflected in the glass of his mirror.

"The mirrors are of twin-make; they are enchanted to show the reflection of the other, but they do not only reflect vision. They also capture sound. It is difficult to show you, given that we are so close to one another now, but I have been assured that they function flawlessly – even in the face of the distance between Asgard and Alfheim."

Aeri does not answer him for some time, her gaze darting between the reflection in her mirror and back up to him. "And this – from your mother?"

"She lacks a need for it now, as it has been some time since my father has left Asgard for any extended period. She suspects that I will have a greater use for it."

"Do you?" She whispers the words, and he can hear the hope in them, see it in the ways her eyes seem to catch fire.

He closes his own mirror and slides it back within the pocket of his overcoat. It is strange to speak the words aloud, but he says them, anyways. "I do not want to lose you, little bird. Not even to loneliness' embrace."

And she is against him, suddenly, her arms encircling his waist, her face against his chest. Now she cries – now she weeps – and the sobs shake her small body, the fingers of her free hand clutching and clawing at the fabric of his shirt beneath his jacket.

But it is relief that takes her, that possesses her, and he can feel it in the way she melts against him, in the hiccuped murmuring he can only just barely make out. "Every day – every night, I will use it, and it will not matter – the distance, the years, it will not matter – my father – it will not matter! Oh, oh, I will not lose you..."

Allowing himself a small smile, he closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "I told you that you would not be so lucky," he whispers against the top of her head, more to himself than to her. "We will have to see where this storm takes us."

She doesn't hear him. Instead, she lifts her head, breathing against his ear, "Loki; I love you."

And he thinks, with a twisting in his heart, that he will never tire of hearing her speak those words.

* * *

**AN2: **Yeah, magic mirrors. IT'S THE YE OLDE NORSE ANSWER TO CELL PHONES, OK? ;)


	19. ACT I: Sweet Suffering

**Sweet Suffering**

**AN: **I apologize is this is a little rough; I only barely skimmed over it because I wanted to throw it up before I left work. I also apologize cause I pretty much said Act I was done, and this was actually meant as an interlude chapter. I think I'll write one more from Loki's point of view (probably full of smut) to close Act I up after this though. This chapter just kinda took on a life of its own and became some giant monster of angst and uh... hinted-at smut. Yeah. Don't worry, it's pretty tame, certainly nothing above PG-13 level. The next chapter though is gonna have to be censored cause yeah. (Don't worry, I'll post the lemon elsewhere again cause yeah, lemons. Yeaaaaah boooy howdy!)

Thanks for reviewing – it makes me write faster. Sometimes. When I'm not lazy. IT WORKED THIS TIME OKAY?!

PS - Really, thanks for everyone for sticking around through my erratic updates - IT MEANS A LOT TO ME! ;.;

* * *

_**Aeri**_

At first, Aeri and Loki speak only at night, before bed. At first, their conversations are short, almost awkward in nature – five minutes here, ten there, perhaps twenty, if Aeri is lucky. At first, Loki mostly listens. Aeri talks about her life, about Alfheim, about the sprawling verdant forests or the crumbling ivory ruins she explores when she wants to be alone. She talks about her studies, about Elven history, about the old languages that are only used in songs. When she is feeling bold, she talks about her feelings – about the anger she feels for her father, or how much she misses her mother. When she is feeling bolder, she tells Loki she wishes she could see him – _really _see him – and that she loves him. It always makes her feel better to see him smile. Sometimes, she thinks she can see the warmth of it reach his eyes, reflected green and bright in the clear glass of her mirror.

But as the days stretch into weeks, and the weeks into months, he begins to change. He begins to open up. And the conversations come easier, last longer – an hour here, sometimes two, and then three – and he is talking to her about _himself_, however halting and unsure.

He starts out slow: stories of the many places he has seen in his years adventuring with Thor, little anecdotes from his childhood. She always listens, spellbound, mesmerized by the cool sound of his voice, by the fleeting moments of laughter she manages to elicit from him. Though the stories are little more than superficial musings, she savors them, prodding him for more with endless questions. He always indulges her.

The months drift away from them. The golden summer gives way to fiery autumn, and autumn falls to white winter. While the distance stretches between them, as impossibly far as ever, time somehow seems to bring them ever closer. Loki never misses a night, even when duty with Thor calls him away from the shining spires of Asgard to places Aeri has only ever heard of in passing.

It is usually enough. Sometimes, though, the distance wears heavy on her, and she cannot help the tears when she talks to him, buried beneath her heavy blankets, huddled beside her hearthfire. But he always listens, quiet and patient, and when she has spilled her sorrows he shushes her and soothes her and talks her to sleep.

* * *

Life becomes nothing more than a series of moments she must endure before she can speak to Loki again, and her father cannot help but notice her growing apathy. Her increasing disinterest in her friends and her surroundings begins to frighten him; she moves as if she were a sleeping ghost, drifting from the house to disappear for hours at a time into the forests – hours she can never account for when she returns.

Aeri can tell her father is trying so hard to be patient, that he wants her to come to him, that he is clueless as to the reasons for her distraction. But the anger is still there, dull and aching, and she cannot bring herself to forgive him. That Loki remains so steadfast in his attentions only serves as a justification for her feelings.

She avoids him on purpose and makes a point of being absent from the house as often as possible. Some days the only time she sees Arnkell is over dinner, sitting still and distant across the long ivory table from him. They always take their meals in silence.

It is mid-winter, over one of these silent dinners, when he finally cracks.

"Aeri."

She looks up from her untouched plate at him, eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

"I cannot suffer this sulking any longer." She expects him to be angry, but he only sounds exhausted. "Please, tell me what is troubling you."

And she almost feels bad for him. Almost. But at the same time, it infuriates her that he cannot guess the answer when she feels it should be obvious. It offends her that he so clearly expects her to have moved on after her return from Asgard.

She pushes her plate away from her and crosses her arms across her chest, frowning down the table at her father. "How can you not know?"

He stares at her for a moment, his brows furrowed, twitching with thought. Suddenly, his expression darkens. "Surely this does not have to do with _Loki_?"

Shaking her head in exasperation, Aeri narrows her eyes. "You speak as if it were some small trifle!"

"And by all rights, it should be!" The anger she was expecting is there now, shaking in his voice, tensing in his shoulders. "You had but a scant few days with him – _months _ago! How can you justify this despondency over something so fleeting?"

It's a struggle not to tell him just how wrong he is. Instead Aeri unwraps her arms and links her fingers together in her lap, sitting up as straight as she can. When she speaks, she does so calmly, slowly, trying to match her father's sudden fury with an even temper despite how hers flares within her. "It _could_ have been something more, if you _would_ have allowed it."

Arnkell does not speak immediately, and she can tell he is trying to regain his composure. "I doubt that, Aeri. There are things about him that you cannot know – knowledge that I have the unfortunate burden of bearing. I can tell you only that I will not see you with him. My very heart recoils at the thought."

Aeri puts both her hands on the table, rising to her feet, her reign on her temper lost. "How can you do that, Father? Do you really think me such a child, that I would be content with vague threats that undoubtedly have no basis in reality? That you might keep me in check with 'white lies'? He is the son of Odin; what fault could you possibly find in him? I am ever surprised that Odin did not take offense to your cruel dismissal of his son and – "

"Aeri." Arnkell interrupts her, his expression serious, his tone like ice. Immediately she quiets, her breath stilling in her lungs. She has never seen her father so austere. "I am going to tell you something, and you are never – _never –_ allowed to breathe a _word_ of it to anyone. Do you understand?"

Suddenly, inexplicably, she is not sure she wants to hear what he has to say. "Father – "

"No." He breathes the word out, and the words die in her throat. "Loki is not Odin's son."

And Aeri is dizzy suddenly. She slides back into her chair, hands gripping the sides of the table for support. "What?"

Arnkell closes his eyes and slides his face into his hands. "I first met Odin when we were but children, young men taken to the wilds to prove to the realms that we were something – that we were strong, or clever, or brave. It was a chance meeting in a dangerous situation, and only by working together were we able to make it out alive. We made fast friends, and soon I was shirking my duties to my family and spending months at a time in Asgard. What time I spent outside of it, I spent with Odin traversing the realms, looking for glory or adventure.

"We were foolish boys together, and we matured together. We grew old... together. And there could have been no closer a friendship, no truer a bond." Arnkell shakes his head, sliding his hands across the table. "Those were times of peace, but they were not to last. A boy's dream became a man's nightmare when the Frost Giants grew restless, grew angry. And then there was war.

"As a boy, as a _child_, you crave the blood. You ache for the chance to prove yourself, for a war to make your name in. But war is only glorious in tales, in the songs sung by bards. In reality, war is cruel, and terrible, and full of pain. I lost friends in those battles – loved ones. My father, my sister, both of your mother's parents. Their blood bought the peace we have now, and when I think back to those times, I think not of the lives that I claimed but of the lives that were lost. There is no real triumph in surviving, knowing that your life was paid for in the lives of others you once held dear."

"Father..."

"Be still, Aeri." He lifts his head from his hands and fixes her with a look that smothers any further thoughts of interruption. "The war was brutal, but we were winning. By Odin's hand, we were _winning_. We took the battle to Jotunheim, and there, after many long days, we found victory.

"It was not the only thing we found."

Aeri can scarcely dare to breath.

"I was with Odin, then – the rest had stayed behind, to help the fallen – and Odin saw, for reasons I still question, to go into the temple. And there, alone and abandoned, he found a child.

"It was small – small for a Frost Giant's spawn, perhaps even so for an Asgardian child – and left to die. Laufey's son, sentenced to a slow death for the crime of being born a runt.

"I urged Odin to end its suffering. Begged him; pleaded. It was not that I lacked sympathy for it, but there was nothing to be done. It was... Odin's idea to take the child. In his mind, he saw a future born from its abandonment, a chance at a greater peace. That one day, once the child had grown, he might help to forge a real bond between Jotunheim and Asgard.

"To say that I disagreed with this course of action would be an understatement. My sympathy did not extend farther than painless euthanasia. But Odin, for all our closeness, could not be convinced otherwise; he was firm in his decision. He would raise the child as his own, keeping its past from it until the time was right, until the time when a truce might be forged between Laufey and his abandoned son.

"I was... _angry_. That Odin would take one of those _monsters _into his own house – it was a mockery to all that I had lost, all that _we_ had _all _lost. I could understand his motivations, but I could not understand how he could deign to follow through with them. Yet he was an old friend, and I was in his debt in more ways than one, and when he made me swear an oath to keep that secret, I took it for _him _even though I could not help but hate myself for it."

And suddenly it all makes sense. "Loki is... a Frost Giant?"

"Yes." Arnkell slumps back into his chair, eyes closed, head hanging.

"Does he _know_?" She asks, her voice hardly above a whisper.

"No."

Aeri's mind is racing, leaping, thrashing, and she can barely keep up. Loki, a Jotun – and it seems impossible, _impossible_.

"He does not look at all like a Jotun..."

"Enchantment, Aeri. Magic. Odin saw to that immediately. He could not have the people of Asgard knowing that he had brought a little mewling murderer home with him." Arnkell laughs, but there is no humor to the sound. "A damned wolf in sheep's clothing."

And she understands. She understands, now, her father's disapproval. His friendship with Odin was only enough to buy her a chance to accompany Loki to the feasts, but nothing more than that. And when she had pursued it further, her father could no longer oblige her – could not even oblige Odin.

And she thinks that this should change her opinion – she has, after all, lost family to the Jotun. Should she not share in her father's rage?

Loki Laufeyson. Son of Laufey.

But it isn't enough. And her mind drifts, instead, to thoughts of Loki talking her to sleep when she can't manage to calm down on her own. She thinks of him promising to be there for her, and how it is the only thing that finally manages to pacify her.

She thinks of how, when she wakes in the morning, he is always there, sleeping – framed and reflected in the mirror – as if sleeping beside her. It had been his idea to place his mirror, open and facing himself, on a table aside his bed; and the little touch of it had brought tears to her eyes the first morning she'd found him there.

"How can youcall a _child _a murderer?" And Aeri wonders how many people know. Loki has mentioned feeling misplaced before, alone, separated from the rest, and her heart twists with the thought of it being the cause of his damning heritage. "Children are _innocent_ – he has done nothing wrong and you have no right to judge him for the sins of his father!"

Arnkell's eyes burn with sudden fury and he rises from his seat, his chair tumbling backwards. "How can you _say _that? He was born a _monster_, and it is only a matter of time before his true nature surfaces!"

"_You _are the monster, Father," Aeri hisses, tears stinging her eyes. "'_Painless euthanasia_'? He was a _child!_ That is _sick_. That is _disgusting!_ How can you call _him_ a monster when it is _your_ heart that is blackened by hate?"

Arnkell seethes. "You are an ignorant, stubborn, _naïve_ child! Your mother would be appalled at your selfish insolence! Her parents gave their lives to those beasts that you might live in peace – and you would side with the son of Laufey – all so that you might _court _him?"

"You speak as if it was Loki himself who took the lives of our family – as if he drank of their blood, as if he picked his teeth clean with their bones – but it is _you _who would have murdered a child without a shred of remorse." The severity of her own voice almost surprises her, and it trembles with her rage.

"Get out," Arnkell leans over the table and points to the stairs. His voice is dead-quiet. "Get out of my sight. It makes me ill to look at you right now."

She rises from the table and goes without a word.

From her balcony, Aeri watches the sun set. It lingers defiantly behind the trees for a time, painting the sky in violent violets and reds, as if afraid to fall. It reminds her of blood, of shadows, and there is no beauty to it – only pain.

And then it finally falls, and night spills itself across the sky, a mess of bright stars and swirling snow flurries that skitter and dance around her feet, playing at the hem of her dress. The cold has worked its way into her, numbing her limbs, burning in her throat, and when she touches her cheeks she feels little flakes of ice there – remnants of tears she was not fully aware of.

A sigh escapes her in a brief puff of silver smoke, but the wind snatches at it, stealing it from her, and it is gone. With trepidation she retreats into her room, welcoming the heat that billows from the fire in the hearth like an old friend. It surrounds her, enveloping her, seeping into her and chasing away the chill, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.

Collapsing into a chair beside the fire, Aeri pulls the mirror from her pocket. It is closed, her link to him sealed behinds its silver embellishments, and she passes it between her hands, thinking. It is late – too late, she knows – as she was due for their conversation hours ago. She has lost the time to the night, to the stars and the snow, and she finds that she fears the threat of Loki's anger even more so than her father's.

But worst of all she fears that she might somehow give the secret away, betrayed in a misplaced word or a guilty conscience she won't be able to suppress.

The mirror feels so cold between her hands, and she rubs it between her fingers absently. She knows she cannot tell him. The truth is cruel and unforgiving, terrible and full of hate. It is the real monster of the story, and she shudders to think of what knowing it will do to him.

It is with no small amount of dark humor that she realizes her father has blundered in his confession. His motivation had been to discourage her from her affections, but he has broken the oath with the Allfather for nothing. Instead she aches for Loki, her eyes prickling again with new tears.

"_Painless euthanasia." "Monster." "Frost Giant's spawn."_

The words are so unfair, so barbaric. Her father had always been so kind – that he was capable of such thoughts was inconceivable. She would never have expected to hear them spoken aloud.

Pressing her fingers to her eyes, she brushes away the tears, making a point of focusing on her breathing. In and out, in and out. And slowly, slowly, she calms.

The mirror in her hands is warmer, now, the metal comfortable against her skin. Her hands find the familiar latch and the mirror opens with a soft noise.

The glass inside is dark, but not because the mirror is closed. If she squints she can barely make out the movement of shadows, and when she holds it close to her ear, she can hear the sound of fire crackling.

"Loki?" She whispers his name, calling out across the void between the glass. As if on command the mirror blurs with grays and blacks, and then his face comes into view. The lighting is poor; his face is smudged and lost to the shadows, and it is near impossible to make out his expression. "Where are you? Your quarters do not have such terrible lighting."

"I think the better question here would be, 'Where have you been?'" And she can tell from his tone that he is – at least slightly – annoyed.

Drawing her knees up to her chest she does her best to look apologetic instead of guilty. "I was held up by my father." It is not entirely a lie.

Loki is silent for a long moment, and she imagines him to be scrutinizing her as best he can through the glass. "Oh?" And it's one little word, but it demands so much. He knows there is more to the story than that, and she can practically feel the way his eyes are peeling the layers of her defenses away.

It is her turn to pause as she plans her words. "I – well... beyond necessities, we have not spoken in months. He decided to pursue the reason for my silence, and I lost my temper."

"Is that why your eyes are red?"

She lifts one hand to her temples, feeling for tears. There are none, and she frowns. "It is unfair that you can see me so clearly while you lurk safely within shadows."

He makes a small huffing noise, something similar to a short laugh. "I am only concerned for you, little bird. Unfortunately I cannot lay claim to _purposefully_ lurking in shadows; I simply could not be bothered to build another fire."

"You are not home?" She cannot help her surprise.

"No," he answers, and she thinks she sees him shake his head. "Thor has laid claim to the campfire, and though I imagine he might manage to sleep through the thunder of rampaging dragons, I still prefer my privacy. I have little more than a torch, and it is burning _quite _low now."

"I was not aware you were to be leaving Asgard?" It is more a question than a statement, and he chuckles again.

"Mmm, I suppose it _is_ a rather spontaneous sojourn. I did not know I was leaving until this morning, myself." She sees the white of his teeth as a smile stretches his lips, the light of the fire reflected off of them. "Speaking of which – did your father, in his no doubt _generous _slandering of my good name, happen to mention that he was leaving for Asgard in the morning?"

Aeri is suddenly very dizzy. "No... he did not."

"A pity," Loki says through still smiling teeth. "But I am hardly surprised."

Her heart aches with his obvious amusement. "How can you stand to be in such good cheer? I might have gone with him – I might have been able to see you!"

"Aeri – "

All the emotion from earlier wells up in her throat, burning hot with the indignation of his grim good humor. "Do you know how much my heart aches to see you beyond the confines of this damnable little glass? Do you know what I would give to be able to press my fingers to you again and – "

"Aeri!" The sharpness to his tone cuts through her mounting hysteria, and she presses herself back into her chair, closing her eyes.

"Breathe."

She obeys him, taking in the air in deep breaths again, dizzy as the blood pounds in her temples.

"Your altercation with your father must have been quite a _bit_ more severe than I initially assumed?"

Nodding her head, she presses her eyes closed. She does not trust herself to say anymore – her father's words beat a resounding echo within her mind, and her heart swells with the weight of that awful, awful truth.

"Then I apologize." The concession shocks her enough that she momentarily forgets her fear – she can not remember him ever apologizing to her for anything. Opening her eyes, she tries her best to see his face beyond the shadows that flicker across it.

"I had no hope that your father would bring you with him to Asgard," he continues, his voice quiet and smooth. "I made light of the situation to assuage my own resentment."

Closing her eyes again, she shakes her head. She feels as if she should apologize to him – for knowing things she should not, for troubling him with something so small and insignificant when life has so clearly wronged him. "Do not trouble yourself with my foolishness; I am behaving rather childishly and allowing my emotions to influence my temper."

"I think I might be equipped to handle that on occasion, little bird," he teases her gently, some of that amusement creeping back into his voice. "Given what you suffer from your father on my behalf, it is the least I can offer you."

His generosity only builds atop her guilt, and she swallows hard, trying to pass the knot in her throat. "Let us change the subject; I do not wish to think of my father," she tries instead. "Where is Thor taking you now?"

"That, little bird, is a secret," he answers playfully.

It takes a conscious effort not to cringe, for Aeri has had enough of secrets for one lifetime. But at the same time, his mirth is contagious. She can not recall seeing him so animated. "Did you not _just_ apologize for being insensitive?" She pouts.

"And what does _that_ have to do with secrets?"

She cannot help the small smile that plays at her lips. "I suppose – as a prince – you _would _be ignorant of how to properly apologize. But generally one does not follow through on an apology by immediately dangling secrets in the face of his distraught victim."

Loki laughs, and she melts a little at the sound. "So you are my victim now, are you, little bird?"

"A victim of your obstinance!"

"More so than _that_," he says, and his teeth glitter again. And something about the way he says it sends fire dancing its way up and down her spine. "Besides, you did not even bother to try goading me into a confession."

"And how would you suggest I do that?" She crinkles her nose at the mirror. "It is only by the grace of this damnable distance that you are spared me tickling it from you."

Loki snorts. "Is _that_ how you would do it? Oh, little bird, do not pick fights you cannot win."

"I can be quite fearsome in that regard when necessary," Aeri scolds him, doing her best to sound wounded. "You have no faith in me!"

"No," he laughs again, and she thinks she sees a flash of his green eyes, reflective in the dim light of his torch. "I do not. But I would _certainly_ like to see you try."

"You could at least _lie_..."

"I have more than enough of an ego for the both of us – "

"For probably eighteen different people," she interrupts him, poking her tongue out at him.

" – so I see no point in sparing your feelings," he finishes, that grin widening. "As for your snide comments, you should know that my egowill not allow me to suffer them so gracefully."

"Oh oh oh!" She raises her hand to her cheek in a mock gesture of fear. "Whatever will you do to me from such great distances? I quiver at the thought!"

"You will be quivering at more than that," he breathes, and the levity dies within her, replaced with something else entirely.

"Now you are being needlessly cruel," she whispers, brows drawn, an unbidden heat rising to her cheeks – and, to her shame, elsewhere.

"And how am I being cruel?" He hums at her, and she marvels at how he manages to keep his tone so even and unaffected.

"You know very well!"

"It is not _my _fault that a few innocuous words undo you so easily." She can practically hear the exaggerated eye roll in his words, but that smile never falters.

"They were hardly innocuous!" She wishes she could sink into her chair, melt away. Instead she presses her legs together beneath the soft fabric of her dress and squirms in her seat. "Do not try and pin this entirely on me – take responsibility for your actions."

"Mmm. Perhaps they were not _entirely _innocuous. But I fail to see how they were cruel."

She presses a finger to the glass of the mirror, imagining that she is poking him in the chest. "Aside from the fact that you were very clearly _threatening_ me in the first place..."

"Which you certainly _deserved_," he reminds her innocently. "But _aside_ from that?"

Her voice is barely audible when she responds. "But it is not a threat you can follow up on."

He makes a soft noise, something like a chuckle. "Does it excite you?" And the question is so sudden she can barely process it.

"What?"

He answers her with silence, and her heart is pounding so hard that she wonders if he can hear it through the glass of the mirror. Pressing her lips together, she twists in her chair, suddenly very uncomfortable. "I am _not _going to answer that."

"You _are_ going to answer it." The command broaches no room for argument, and his voice is devoid of any of his earlier amusement. She is briefly thankful that she is sitting down. "And you are going to answer it _now_, Aeri: does the thought of it excite you?"

She feels very small when she answers. "Yes."

And she can imagine the look on his face when she says it – the way the smile no doubt curls at his thin lips, the way his green eyes gleam. And she thinks that it does not matter who – or what – he is. Her body is taken with a sudden trembling, and she could not care one way or another who his parents are or what her father feels. All she knows is the fire that smoulders within her, and that sudden overwhelming need for him that she cannot quite put to words. "Yes," she whispers again, nearly moaning it. "Yes, yes, yes..."

"Come now, little bird, was that so hard?" And his smug confidence only makes it worse for her; it only fans those flames.

"Yes!" She hisses the word from behind her fingers as she slides her hand over her mouth in an effort to muffle herself.

"And why is that?"

She wants to yell at him, to raise her voice, to scream. It has been so many months, and yet every night she still remembers it all so clearly – the feel of him atop her, his teeth at her throat, his fingers digging into the fragile bones of her hips, his body crashing against hers. He'd left tiny bruises in places she'd never paid any attention to, and she'd traced them daily with her own fingers, trying to re-imagine the feeling of his hands holding her down. The sorrow she'd felt when they'd finally faded had been surprisingly overwhelming.

Her hand dances across her thigh guiltily where one of those bruises had been, and she closes her eyes, a shuddering sigh escaping her. "Because you are not here."

"My poor, _precious_ little bird," he whispers the words and she struggles to hold back a whimper. "The day has been so long and difficult for you. Perhaps you should go to bed."

She considers arguing with him; she has hardly had any time with him today, but when she thinks about it, she wants nothing more than to fall into bed and bury herself beneath the heavy blankets. She wants nothing more than to push her face into the pillows and ease that incessant ache between her legs.

On leaden legs she stands, stumbling to her bed gracelessly. She takes the mirror with her, setting it carefully on her bedside table before collapsing into the plush pile of blankets and pillows. Twisting in the bed she turns her head to face the mirror, her face half hidden by an errant cushion.

"Better?" His voice floats from the mirror, eerie and disembodied in the room. If she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend he is there with her.

"Yes," she sighs, and her limbs feel so heavy. It is nearly impossible to focus on anything else but that throbbing rush of blood that thunders through her body. "Yes."

"Good. Now I want you to do something for me."

She makes a noise of assent because talking is becoming more and more difficult to manage.

"I want you to indulge yourself, Aeri. And I want you to think of me while you do it."

And Aeri almost finds the demand ridiculous, if only because she already does so – nearly every night, in fact – without being told to. But it is nothing she would have ever confessed doing to him, hindered by an unfortunate sense of propriety.

The command puts a different spin on it though, and her fingers slide beneath the blankets, catching at her gown. "Silly," she whispers, her mind addled by delirious desire. "I already do."

"Ohhh, I _know_," he says, and the sound of his voice, so arrogant and so assured, makes her quiver. "I _know_, my pretty little bird. Now close your mirror and go to bed, and if you are a _good_ girl and do as I say, I will tell you my secret in the morning."

And she cannot help the glorious consolation she finds in that simple command, if only because she knows relief is not far behind it.

* * *

She wakes, late morning and very drowsy, to grey darkness.

Peeking out from her blankets, her eyes fix tiredly on her balcony. Thick, grim clouds blanket the sky, shrouding the sun entirely from view. Her balcony is lost beneath a heavy snowfall, her balustrade little more than a tall hill of white powder.

Despite the warmth of the fire burning still and endless in the hearth, the sight of it chills her, and she shivers, involuntarily.

On light feet she rises from bed, her hands searching for a heavy robe draped across an ornate chair near the door. Shrugging herself into it, she steals into the open hall and down the stairs quietly, her bare feet padding against the white marble floors.

There is no noise in the house save for the sound of the wind twisting and dancing around it, and she finds each room subsequently empty. The fires that burn in each of the hearths keep the cold at bay, but the sight of the snow falling incessantly beyond the wide awnings of each room is still enough to make her draw her robe tighter around her slender shoulders.

In the dining hall, at her fathers place, she finds a scroll of crisp parchment, sealed with a single red ribbon. With one hand she manages, clumsily, to shake the ribbon off, the other still clutching her robe. The letter is brief and short, confessing too late what Loki has already told her: that Arnkell has gone to Asgard on business for Odin, that he will not be back for a fortnight. There is no affection to the letter; it reads almost as a business transaction, and she cannot help how her lips pull into a tiny frown.

She feeds the letter, in pieces, to the large and roaring fire of the hall, watching disinterestedly as each piece trembles and curls in on itself before collapsing into black soot. The action does not have its intended effect, and she feels somehow even more empty and alone than before.

Her thoughts drift to thoughts of Loki as she makes her way, almost subconsciously, to the bath hall on the far side of the house. Jotunheim, she remembers her father telling her as a child, was always very cold and very unforgiving, with spires of ice and jagged mountains that rose up into the horizon as if to gnash and tear at the ever-dark sky. Where winter at least promised a certain beauty with its possible dangers, Jotunheim lacked anything so fanciful. It was merely ice and shadow and treachery; a place, her father had said, where dreams went to die.

She quickens her step, fighting off both another shiver and that stubborn spark of anger that glimmers sharp and indignant in her chest. It is impossible not to see her father in a different light now – as a man who would have happily left an innocent child to die in such an unspeakably terrible place. No, she decided; no one deserves that. Certainly not Loki – certainly not _her _Loki.

The bath house sits behind a heavy door, and she struggles briefly to pull it open. It has always been stubborn, catching on the floor at every possible step, and she does not bother to close it behind her. The billowing steam of the room is like walking into the embrace of a familiar friend, and she sheds her robe and dress, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

Filling the bath with blessedly hot water, she slides into the pool and cannot catch the sigh in her throat before it escapes her. The water washes clean her thoughts of Jotunheim and her father; it purges the chill-aches in her limbs, working deep within her aching muscles, soothing them from the inside out. She finds her favorite oil beside the pool and adds a generous amount to the bath, savoring the smell of the violet flowers that grow only atop the highest mountains in Alfheim, and even then only in the spring.

She spends an hour dawdling, singing to herself, idly scrubbing herself clean. And when she is done she rises, padding over to the large fire in the center of the room. Holding her hand out to it, she concentrates, and soon a wind is billowing around her, catching at her hair, lapping at the water droplets dotting her damp skin. It is a trick her mother taught her for the winter months long ago – magic, wind conjured and warmed by the fire – and she is dry in moments.

Leaving her clothes on the floor, she takes only her robe. Slipping between the small crack in the door, she has to use her entire body as leverage to shut it, but it is not as much a feat to manage as opening it.

Standing in the long and empty hallway, she pauses to pull her robes tighter around her – and then stills.

There, in the silence of the house and the whispering of the wind, is a noise. It reminds her of footsteps, of the sound of well worn boots on the smooth floors.

"Father?" She calls down the long hallway, and the noise quiets instantly. Frowning, she wonders if her mind isn't playing tricks on her – if she has even heard anything at all.

On tip-toed feet she makes her way down the hallway, pausing to look in the rooms she passes. The library is empty, as is the armory, as is the kitchen. The dining hall's chairs have not been touched, still out of place from Arnkell and Aeri's twin outbursts the night before. She peeks into the drawing room and finds nothing still.

Stepping into the entry hall, she lets her eyes dart across the room, picking at the chairs and the benches that are all unoccupied. She turns, letting her gaze follow the curve of the stairs as they wind around the room and into upper levels of the house.

"Father?" She calls again, growing steadily more unsure by the second.

"He is well on his way to Asgard by now. Or have you already forgotten?"

The voice startles her, and her hand flies to the deep pocket of her robe, searching – in vain – for the open mirror she is certain to she must have left there. But the pocket is empty.

"You left it upstairs on the table beside your bed," comes the voice again, directly behind her and clearly amused. "Which I am going to have to scold you for; did I not tell you to keep it close?"

And for a moment she is paralyzed – by joy, by fear, by a lingering sense of modesty. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turns slowly. He is standing so close behind her that she must incline her head back to look at his face.

"Loki," she breathes his name. "But how – "

"My father made mention of your father coming to visit on official business a few days ago. I – rightfully, I might add – assumed that he would not be bringing you." He clucks his tongue as if in mock disappointment, but the smile from the night before is there, full of smug confidence and white, white teeth. "Thor and I left for our own business early yesterday morning; and, as far as everyone was aware, that journey was taking us to the northernmost part of Alfheim to explore the mountains there."

"But Thor..." She blinks up at him, barely daring to believe that he is really there before her.

"Thor will not be joining us, as he is currently making his way to those mountains as we speak. Our paths separated some time late last night; his errand is simple enough, and he will surely succeed without my help."

"But then – " And the words are awkward for her again, getting stuck in her throat.

"How long is your father going to be absent, Aeri?" Even as he asks the question, she knows he knows the answer. He is too meticulous a planner to not.

"A fortnight," she answers him anyway, dazedly.

"Then I hope you are prepared to entertain me for a fortnight, little bird." He smirks down at her, eyes bright and sharp as pinpricks even in the dull light of the hall. "As a prince, I am known not _only_ for my inability to apologize, but also for my expensive and demanding tastes. And I must say..." He leans down so that his mouth is nearly against her ear, and his breath, when he speaks, draws shivers from her frozen form. "You are doing a poor job of it already. Where is my warm embrace? Where are my frantic, joyous kisses?"

She blinks, her mind a roar of noise, her knees quivering. She feels exposed, caught in nothing more than her robe, and her fingers curl reflexively around her arms. "I am not exactly dressed for that sort of entertaining," she manages, trying at mock outrage but falling far short of it.

He chuckles and draws his head back, his fingers catching the underside of her chin. "We have _quite_ a difference of opinion, then, Aeri. I think it suits the situation _perfectly_." His fingers graze her lower lip, and she feels her body catch fire.

"Now then," he says, his hand drifting from her chin to the side of her throat. His thumb finds the tender hollow there, pressing gently against it until she cannot smother the short squeak of pain it elicits. "I think we need to address my wounded ego."

She can only gaze up at him with wide eyes, her mouth dry, the words forgotten.

"Now now, little bird, do not fret," he soothes her, his free hand stroking at her hair. "You will suffer, and you will suffer _well_. Your prince will be sure of that." And he grins again, and it is in his voice and in her mind, and it is only his arms snaking around her waist that keep her from tumbling to her knees. "You have suffered enough alone; _now_ you will suffer under me."

And he lifts her up, and she is barely conscious of how her robe spills open, of how her breasts press to the cold plate of his armor that shines beneath his long leather coat. Her arms slide around his neck as his mouth finds her ear again, nipping at earlobe. "And your suffering will be _perfect_."


End file.
